


Our Mutual Enemy

by houndeye



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, Old Grievous backstory, Villain Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4982551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndeye/pseuds/houndeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the only way to rebuild a dream of the future was with the help of a nightmare from the past? The Rebels are on the run, the Empire is on the offensive, and General Grievous is caught in the middle of a war he doesn't understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the first time in over fifteen standard years, a light shone in the darkened room. At first, it was barely noticeable – a faint blue glow that highlighted the sealed doorway. As the minutes passed, the grey durasteel door began to shine, first red, and then orange to pale white. Then, with a shower of sparks, a glowing blue beam of plasma penetrated the room.

Gritting his teeth, Ezra Bridger pushed down on the bulky hilt of his lightsaber, willing it to cut through the durasteel. To his annoyance, he found himself rising up off the deck plate below. Without a gravity generator keeping him on his feet, the young Padawan had to expend much of his energy keeping himself upright. His spacesuit was hardly helping, either. The magnetic boots refused to stick, and he found himself cursing as one slipped out from underneath him entirely.

Somebody was laughing in his earpiece. Frowning, Ezra shone his flashlight down the gloomy corridor in the direction of his companion.

“I have to say, Spectre Six, your approach to lockpicking is certainly unique.”

A figure dressed in heavily customised Mandalorian armour drifted slowly into view.

“Why are you floating upside down?”

“We’re in space, kid. There is no up or down.” Sabine drifted close enough to inspect Ezra’s handiwork. “And while we’re on the topic of space, you do realise that your lightsaber will never melt the door when it’s this cold.”

With a huff of annoyance, Ezra tugged his lightsaber free of the door. “Huh. I’d like to see you do better.”

“Is that a challenge?”

A new voice cut through their conversation.

“Cut the chatter you two. Have you found anything down there yet?”

Sabine called up a map on her helmet display. “Nothing so far, Ghost. There are a few more sealed rooms on this level we haven’t checked yet, though.”

“I’m giving you fifteen minutes. Ghost out.”

“Spectre Five out.” Sabine gestured for Ezra to move aside, pulling a fist-sized object from her utility belt. “Come on, you heard her. Let me show you how a Mando unlocks a door.”

With a flash of brilliant light and a jet of blue flame, the final door popped noiselessly from its hinges and spun away into the room beyond. Sabine entered first, activating her helmet-mounted lights.  
Stretching away into the gloom was yet another storage room, identical in dimensions to the last three rooms they had checked. The flickering light swept back and forth in the darkness, revealing row after row of heavy crates. Ezra pulled himself closer to the nearest one, and waved his torch over the faded label stamped on the lid.

“Sabine. I think we’re on to something here.”

His companion drifted over.

“Ghost. We may have a lead down here.”

The response, when it came, was muffled by interference. “Copy...Five. Meet...topside...done. Five minutes.”

Despite the absence of gravity, the intense cold of space had partially welded the metal crate to the decking beneath. When a few sturdy kicks produced no effect, Ezra resorted to cutting a hole in the lid with his lightsaber. Pushing the rapidly cooling disc of durasteel aside, Ezra peered into the crate. When he looked up, his grin was plainly visible through his helmet visor.

“Looks like we’re in luck.”

Sabine gave a dismissive grunt as she shone her flashlight into the hole. “All I see are more battle droids.”

Ezra’s grin grew broader, and Sabine sighed internally – here comes the know-it-all.

“Kanan was showing me some holos just the other day about these droids. They may look like the cheap B-1s, but the yellow markings on this one – oh, and the red shoulder plates on that one there, mean these are OOM-series droids. They’re smarter than the rest...”

Sabine continued to nod her head as she scanned the storage room, despite only half-listening to her companion. One object in particular caught the Mandalorian’s attention. Switching to infrared, she scanned the far wall of the storage room. The light threw up a bizarre kaleidoscope of shadows, and Sabine switched to her secondary sensors for a clearer view. Automatically, the ‘periscope’ arm on her helmet pivoted down to eye level.

“...never really made too many of them though, I guess because they cost too much to produce compared to the dumber droids.”

Ezra pushed off from the lid of the open crate, drifting through the vacuum towards the next crate. Within seconds, he had passed where Sabine hung suspended near the ceiling, and was jetting silently towards another batch of crates in the centre of the room.

A combination of blinking and rapid eye movements manipulated the grainy image on Sabine’s helmet display, cycling through different sensor inputs. On thermal, the far wall of the room showed up in ghostly blue - save for one patch. That’s odd...

Sabine’s voice cut through Ezra’s rambling. “Thanks for the history lesson kid. Seeing as you’re already nearly at the back wall, would you mind checking something out for me?”

“What kind of something?”

“My sensors are picking up a pretty strong heat reading from the other side.”

Ezra braced himself against a crate, and pushed off to land feet-first at the far end of the room. He ran a thickly gloved hand across the wall in the place Sabine had indicated – and recoiled sharply with a shout of pain.

“Ezra? Are you alright?”

Ezra’s shout trailed off into a chuckle. “Oh, so now you decide to listen to me. Yeah, I can feel something.”

Sabine rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to reply – only for a blinking light to appear on her display. This time, the static on the comm allowed only a few words to get through.

“Spectre...found more rooms...keep searching...twenty minutes max.”

“Understood, Spectre One. Good luck up there.”

Sabine drifted over to where Ezra was floating. His eyes were closed, both palms braced against the wall.

“What do your Jedi-senses tell you?”

He simply shook his head. “I’m...not sure.”

Ezra unhooked his lightsaber from his belt. The heated area on the wall was clearly visible in his mind’s eye, but before he could start cutting, Sabine grabbed onto his arm.

“Don’t! My rad counter just got a reading. That hot patch could mean there’s a reactor on the other side.”

“So what’s the plan?”

* * *

 

Weapons at the ready, two figures in bulky pressure suits stepped out of the cramped corridor and out into a large, open plan room. The smaller of the two keyed his wrist comm.

“Ghost. Zeb and I have reached the bridge.”

“Copy that. You know what you’re looking for?”

“Believe me, I know a tactical droid when I see it. Just the head, right?”

“Affirmative. Fulcrum was very specific.”

Kanan nodded to the Lasat. “Alright Zeb. Start checking the command droids. We’re looking for one with a bulky body, built in helmet. Should be stamped all over with logos.”  
Zeb grunted his acknowledgment. The pair split up as they moved onto the bridge. Battle droids of all types were dotted around the various control consoles, slumped over holoscreens or lying on the floor. Kanan noted that many of the larger windows on the bridge were covered in durasteel panels – they must have blown out when the ship had been crippled all those years ago.

Of all the missions that the crew of the Ghost had performed for Ahsoka Tano, this one was certainly on the unusual end of the spectrum. The rebel agent had wanted a piece of Separatist equipment for use in some special recovery operation – specifically, the head of a tactical battle droid. Despite being on first name terms with Ahsoka, she had been unusually cagy about the exact parameters of the mission, providing the crew with the bare minimum to get the job done.  
This time, the intel had been accurate. Rebel alliance records pinpointed a Republic ambush on a Separatist evacuation route in an isolated system near Lothal, in the final days of the Clone Wars, and sure enough there were several abandoned cruisers still drifting in space, decades later.

Kanan prodded an OOM-series droid with his boot, and watched as it sank slowly to the floor in the low gravity. He shuddered – he would never be comfortable around these things, or any other Clone Wars relics.  
“Ghost, how are the others doing?”

* * *

 

“Your time to shine, kid.”

Closing his eyes, Ezra focused on the scorched and pitted section of wall upon which Sabine had exhausted her supply of thermal detonators. Having searched the rest of the crates and finding no tactical droids, the pair had allowed themselves to become sidetracked by the mysterious heat signature.  
Ezra pictured the durasteel bulkhead in his mind. He imagined running his fingers across it, probing every fissure and crack, searching for a weak point. The longer he concentrated, the more the image became solidified in his mind, until he could feel the rough texture under his palms, even through his gloves.

_Focus._

Flakes of paint puffed silently from the wall.

_Focus._

Sabine leaned in. A nearly imperceptible vibration was beginning to spread across the wall.

_Breathe._

Ezra stuck out his hand, and the wall moved with him, bending inwards at its weakest point. Even Sabine could not help but gasp as the steel buckled silently. Slowly, Ezra clasped his hands together in a swimming motion, and the wall plate tore in two, sending up a cloud of dust fragments that momentarily obscured him from view.  
For several seconds, silence reigned, broken only by the sound of laboured breathing from Ezra’s comm. He clenched and unclenched his fists, mumbling something to himself – then he looked up, and flashed Sabine a grin.

“That’s how a Jedi opens a door.”

“Pfft. After I used three thermal detonators to ‘unlock’ it for you.”

Ezra slipped aside with a laugh, allowing Sabine to inspect the rend in the bulkhead wall – and what lay beyond.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Chop, I need that positioning data."

There was a metallic rattling sound from behind the co-pilot's seat. Moments later, a battered orange astromech emerged from its charging station, trundling across the floor of the cockpit towards the nearest data terminal. As it moved, the droid burbled something quietly to itself.

"I heard that."

Chopper rotated his dome with a whistling sound.

"Of course I can work it out myself. It's just far more convenient to let a droid crunch the numbers. It's all ones and zeros to you anyway. C'mon, plug in."

Hera Syndulla returned her attention to the controls of the Ghost. The converted freighter was currently attached to the remains of a Separatist battle cruiser, held in place by a set of powerful magnets. Even when idle, an experienced eye was necessary for ensuring the magnets held properly. An electronic chime sounded, and Hera flicked a switch to cancel it, hardly needing to glance away from her datapad as she did. To the Twi'lek, manipulating the Ghost was almost second nature.

Chopper made another garbled noise, and a large holoscreen on Hera's console began to fill with Aurabesh. Hera scanned over it briefly, idly adjusting her flight cap as she did. It had taken quite a lot of careful manoeuvring to bring the ship close enough to the wreck for a docking. In order to leave, the Ghost would have to pick its way through a sizeable cloud of debris that still hung around the battlefield.

"Thanks Chop. Feel free to take a recharge." Hera heard a faint squeaking noise behind her that suggested that the astromech was making an obscene gesture – but when she turned around the droid had already beaten a hasty retreat. She sighed – _when was the last time I got more than a cycle of sleep?_

Although she wasn't out on the wreck, Hera enforced a strict ban on caf consumption during a mission – _maybe that rule could be relaxed a bit. After all, what's the point in being Captain if you can't-_

"Ghost...come in Ghost..."

Hera straightened up in her seat and pressed the transmit button. "How's it looking in there, Spectre One?"

"Sorry Ghost, no luck on finding a tactical droid up here on the bridge. I reckon our best bet now would be to investigate the debris we passed on the way in."

"Are you sure? It would be a lot more dangerous. Those fragments are still moving around out there."

"This cruiser isn't exactly the most likely place to find a rare droid. If those fragments were from a command vessel, we might just be in luck."

"I'm just not sure it's worth risking your life over, dear."

Kanan chuckled. "We'll hold here for now. You checked in with the others recently?"

"No, I'll see if I can reach them."

* * *

 

For the third time in as many minutes, Sabine Wren brought up the schematics of a Munificent-class frigate on her helmet display.

"It...just doesn't make sense. None of these rooms appear anywhere in the plans...and these ships were all mass produced. So this one must have seen some pretty heavy modifications to cram all this space in."

"Either that or you've got the map the wrong way up."

The two teenagers were suspended in zero gravity in a long hallway, one wall of which bore the damage from their forced entry. The mysterious heat signature, however, was now directly on their right side, as it appeared to be emanating from one of the locked doorways that branched off the passage.

"Ghost...Spectres...me?" Sabine cursed, rapping a knuckle on the side of her helmet. "Say again, Ghost?" There was no response. Sabine punched a text message into her longwave transmitter, reporting their position.

Ezra made a frustrated sound over the comm channel. This time, however, Sabine was ready for him. She stuck out her arm, and the loose sole of Ezra's magnetic boot drifted down the corridor towards her, before attaching itself to her metal gauntlet.

"Thanks Sabine."

"Don't mention it, kid. So, which of these doors should we be taking a look at?" Ezra trained the beam of his flashlight on the nearest one. Unlike the outer doors, these were smaller affairs, made only of thin steel with a basic electronic keypad for access. Sabine drew her twin blasters, but the Padawan had beaten her to it, slicing through the locking mechanism with one quick stroke of his lightsaber. The door rolled back, and the two rebels entered the room.

"Wow. Hey, Sabine, are you seeing this?"

Unlike the previous storage rooms, with their dark unfinished steel walls and low ceilings, this area was vast – easily large enough to fit the Ghost. The walls were covered in sterile white plating, seemingly untouched by the ravages of the vacuum. Ezra's flashlight beam danced across the far wall as the teenager braced himself against the doorway, before pushing off and slowly gliding outwards. Sabine, however, was on edge. Her helmet sensors went into overdrive, flipping through infrared, spectroscopy and thermal to detect any hidden threats.

Seemingly unaware, Ezra drifted across the room. Looking back along the wall, he realised that all of the dozen or so doorways in the hidden passage led into this space. His eyes were drawn to several large objects that dominated the room. Flush with the opposite wall was a tall, complex looking piece of machinery, clad in thick steel plating. Even through his spacesuit, Ezra could feel the heat that emanated from within it. His flashlight panned over the device, taking in the extensive network of pipes and valves that radiated out across the walls and floor.

"That sure looks like a reactor to me. What do you think it's powering?"

As he spoke, Ezra panned his light around, following a thick bundle of pipes that trailed from the reactor, across the floor, then up to the base of the second object. In the centre of the space, the floor curved upwards into a raised dais. At the tip of this was a tall durasteel cylinder that was coated in thick bundles of wiring. Multiple inactive data terminals were positioned around the base of the cylinder.

"Hey...Sabine. Where did Ahsoka say this ship was coming from?"

"Uta...Utapau? Was that it? There was some big battle there at the end of the war – I think Ahsoka said these ships were trying to evacuate to elsewhere in the Outer Rim. At least, until the Republic caught up with them."

Ezra drifted closer to the nearest data terminal, squinting at the attached keyboard through his helmet visor.

"What kind of cargo needs its own dedicated hypermatter reactor?" He glanced up at the durasteel cylinder with a frown.

"Hey!" "Ha-ha! Thanks kid."

A hand fell on Ezra's shoulder, and before he could protest he found himself being pushed backwards as Sabine used him as a launch platform to propel herself closer to the reactor. Lashing out with the Force, Ezra retaliated, directing a wave of energy at his companion. With a cry of surprise, Sabine was sent flying across the room, unhindered by gravity. Upon reaching the far wall, she opened her mouth to curse at Ezra – _couldn't the kid take a joke_ \- but the words died in her throat when the first blaster bolt pierced the space where she had been drifting moments before.

* * *

 

To the untrained eye, the debris field that lay in the shadow of the Suhukk system was like any other relic of a Clone War era battlefield. House-sized chunks of durasteel, fragments of Republic and Separatist ships alike, made up the majority of the cloud, which was dotted here and there with the gaudy colours of a starfighter, or a crystallised lump of hypermatter. To all but the most advanced military scanners, the Ghost was invisible as it clung to the hull of what was once the Pride of Utapau IX.

"Agent Kallus. Our scanning equipment has a lock on the rebel craft. We are awaiting further instructions."

_"Excellent work, Captain. Activate the cloaking device and move to intercept them. Remember; the Inquisition wants the Jedi and his apprentice alive. Dispose of the rest."_

The stormtrooper nodded stiffly, and then turned to the crew compartment. "Weapons check! Three minutes to target!"

The hull of the Imperial shuttle shimmered as it engaged a cloaking device, slipping silently into the debris field.

 


	3. Chapter 3

" _Ezra!"_

" _Stay where you are!"_

" _I'm not-"_ Sabine broke off as a blaster bolt ricocheted off the wall an arm's length from her hiding place. The Mandalorian had squeezed herself into a doorframe that was just deep enough to protect her from incoming fire. She poked her head around the corner long enough to let off some shots into the darkness, before ducking back as the answering volley hammered silently into the wall.

As soon as she had disappeared from view, the battle droids that had been hidden on the opposite side of the raised platform pivoted towards the figure floating near the ceiling. Lights of all colours flickered and flashed as a lone blue blade desperately batted away a hailstorm of red bolts.

Sabine was torn. Ezra needed her to keep the droids occupied, but without the help of the rest of the crew they would not last a mynock minute if the droids outflanked them. With a flick of her wrist, Sabine sent a tiny camera flying out into the room. It attached itself with magnets to the opposite wall, and began to broadcast a grainy night-vision picture to her helmet. The picture revealed the droids – a dozen B-1s, a pair of hulking B-2s, and, to Sabine's surprise, the boxy outline of a tactical battle droid, manipulating one of the consoles on the far side of the platform. All were anchored to the floor by the magnetic soles of their feet.

" _Ezra! Get in some cover! I'm going to try to contact the others."_

With a hard kick, Ezra pushed off from the ceiling and flew through the room towards one of the sealed doorways. As he moved, he twirled his lightsaber frantically in front of him, while drawing his legs up to his chin to present the smallest possible target to the droids. Fighting in zero-gravity was a novelty, and Ezra was forced to rely on the Force as the darkness robbed him of his sight. Sabine watched, punching a text message into her comm system as she did. _Under attack. Battle droids. Send help._

" _Ah!"_

" _Ezra!"_

To Ezra, everything changed in an instant. One moment, he had been gliding across the room towards the doorway, then in the next something struck him in the leg, propelling him backwards into the nearest wall with enough force to make him see stars. The chunky grip of his lightsaber was wrenched from his hands, and his suit lighting went dark. To Sabine, peering into the darkness, her companion seemed to disappear completely from view.

Adrenaline surged through the young Mandalorian's veins. Gritting her teeth, she kicked off from the doorway, corkscrewing through the vacuum towards where she had seen Ezra fall. Her twin pistols shuddered in her hands, and she was rewarded with a shower of sparks as the bolts tore into the droid formation. The motionless form of her companion loomed suddenly in her helmet camera, and she grabbed for him as she flew passed, dragging him after her. In the far corner of the room, a small group of crates were stacked against the wall, forming a low barrier that looked as though it would offer some protection. Her magnetic boots latched onto the floor, bringing them to a sliding halt. Sabine glanced at Ezra's visor, and was relieved to see that he was alive – if a little shaken.

* * *

" _Don't move. We're on our way down there now."_

"There's no time. Besides, I'm closer than you are."

Hera growled in frustration as she attempted to fold her lekku into the flexible helmet of her pressure suit. Unlike other humanoids, a rigid helmet would be painfully constrictive for a Twi'lek, so Hera wore a large transparent hood over her head, which could be inflated with her personal air supply.

" _Hera. Stay with the ship. We might need you to pick us up from the other side of the wreck."_

"Chopper can manage on his own." The astromech gave an affirming warble from the cockpit. Pulling on a tab, Hera inflated her helmet, then began to check herself over. She had swapped her usual holdout blaster for an Imperial E-11 rifle, complete with flashlight and grappling equipment.

" _Hera?"_

She paused, one hand resting on the handle of the airlock. Despite the urgency of the situation, she couldn't help but smile at Kanan's obvious concern.

"I think I can handle a few droids. I'll meet you back at the _Ghost._ Spectre Two, out."

Without waiting to hear the reply, Hera twisted the handle of the airlock, and stepped out into the darkness beyond.

* * *

" _I'm...I'm ok. My left leg-"_ Ezra broke off as he put a gloved hand to his thigh. Sabine winced. The fabric outer surface of the spacesuit was charred and blackened by the blaster burn. She examined it for a few seconds, then surprised Ezra with a laugh.

" _You'll be fine. At least the burn sealed your suit – wouldn't have much of a leg left if it didn't."_

Ezra managed a small smile. He opened his mouth to say more – but something moving above his head caught his attention. Before he could speak, Sabine had thrown herself across his body, crushing him to the floor with her armoured form. The brief glimpse of an irregularly shaped metal object was all the forewarning Sabine needed. She tensed, waiting for the shockwave of the thermal detonator to rush soundlessly overhead...

" _Sabine?"  
_

Sheepishly, Sabine looked up. Ezra was holding the object in his hands – the head of a battle droid, severed at the neck joint.

  


* * *

_Fierfek._

Hera pulled herself away from the corner as the last of the droids tumbled away, no longer anchored to the decking. Her suit sensors were showing two faint heat signatures from the other side of the cavernous room – but there was no way she could go out there and see for herself. As she had stood in the doorway, debating whether or not to move in, a squad of heavily armed stormtroopers had burst through a hidden rear door, silently cutting down the ranks of battle droids with deadly precision.

Hunkering down, she opened her comms channel.

" _Spectre Five? Spectre Six? Do you read me?"_

" _...There's no need to whisper, Hera."_

" _You've got company in there. Stormtroopers, a squad and a half's worth. They just took out the last of the droids."_

Sabine manipulated her helmet controls in an effort to pick up the stormtroopers' frequency. They used an encrypted band, but she'd sliced harder systems before. Flashing Hera a thumbs-up, Sabine dialled in, only to be greeted by a screech of interference. _I hope nobody heard that._

The attention of the stormtroopers, however, was focused elsewhere. As the last of the droids had fallen to the deck, the machinery that dominated the space began to show signs of life. Lights flashed across the surface of the reactor system, and in response, the cylinder at the top of the raised platform began to move. Gas puffed from hidden vents as the tube lowered into the floor, to reveal an internal cylinder, into which a multitude of pipes from the reactor and the control consoles ran. A light was shone on the tube. Weapons at the ready, the Imperials stepped forward.

" _Some kind of liquid...green gel. Can't see much else in there."_

Then, drawn away by invisible pumping mechanisms, the green liquid began to empty from the cylinder. By the light of a blaster-mounted flashlight, the stormtroopers and their unseen observers peered through the transparisteel. An indistinct shadow stood out beneath the gel.

" _There's something in there alright."_ A woman's voice crackled across the comms channel. Female stormtroopers had been rare on Lothal – although it had always been a little difficult to tell at a glance.

" _Commander?"_

" _Spread out. There could be more droids hiding in here."_

Taking slow and deliberate steps, the stormtroopers threaded their way through the floating remains of the droids, panning their flashlights across the sterile, white-plated walls. The commander examined a control panel, turning her back on the rapidly emptying cylinder as she did.

Ezra's nerves jangled. Even as the lights moved away from the cylinder, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the patch of darkness that concealed it. It was as if some primal fear – a survival instinct – was compelling him to watch. His heart hammered uncomfortably loudly in the stifling confines of his spacesuit.

" _See anything?"_

Sabine screwed her eyes shut as a reflex as a flashlight beam swept over their hiding place. Despite her armour and the airless void that separated her from the troopers, she remained as quiet as she could, hugging her knees to her chest.

" _Just a few crates. No droids."_

The beam moved on, and Sabine breathed out. Hera's voice returned to her earpiece.

" _Kids. There's a vent on the wall to your left. Do you see it?"_

" _I see it. The schematics aren't going to give us any clues about where it leads."_

" _Right now, that doesn't matter. See if you two can sneak through, and I'll head around the other side. I see no reason why we can't leave the Imperials to their business and get out of here safely."_

Sabine turned to Ezra. _"Okay. Vent-crawling is your department, so you can go first."_

From the doorway, Hera watched as the pair moved towards the wall. As they did, Hera thought she saw something flit past in the shadows nearby – but when she turned her helmet sensors to infrared, they came up blank.

The pair had managed to creep nearly halfway to the vent before they were interrupted by a sudden burst of static in their headsets. The sound, a curious mix of crackling and gargling, lasted for over a second, echoing loudly inside their helmets. Fearing that they had somehow been the source, Ezra and Sabine froze.

" _What was that?"_ The stormtroopers had heard it too. Flashlight beams snapped on all around the room. Peering through the perforated wall of the nearest crate, Ezra watched as the white armoured figures raised their weapons, silently panning their lights across the room.

" _Ezra. Keep moving."_

Slowly, they began to inch towards the vent, which was now almost within arm's reach. Ezra screwed his eyes shut as he concentrated, willing the vent cover to move as he reached out into the Force. This time, however, he knew that something was different. The Force felt...wrong. For a horrible moment, he was reminded of his brush with a certain Dark Lord of the Sith, and the wave of hatred and anger that seemed to cloak his armoured body. As Ezra concentrated, he was struck by a wave of unbridled emotion – _fear._

" _Ezra?"_ There was no reply. Sabine looked around, as if to see what the source of the disturbance was – and caught a glimpse of something. Acting on reflex, her hands flew to the grips of her blasters.

It was a stormtrooper. The white-suited figure hung motionless barely a metre from their hiding place. For a second, Sabine considered kicking the crate away from herself and opening fire at point blank range. Then the figure drifted closer, and she realised something was very wrong.

" _Radio check."_

" _TM-678."_

" _TM-444."_

" _TU-512? 512, respond."_

Sabine suppressed a gasp as the stormtrooper's body bumped against a crate. One entire side of his helmet had been completely shattered, revealing frostbitten skin underneath. His neck also appeared to be bent at an unnatural angle.

" _TU-512? Traz, where are you? Why aren't you on comms?"_

As the troopers moved, one of them waved the beam of his flashlight over to the far corner of the room.

Not only was the transparisteel tube empty – it had been broken open from the inside.

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

" _Kanan? Kanan! Where are you?"_

"Hera? What's going on?" Kanan tapped on his helmet as he spoke. The interference, and Hera's heavy breathing, was making her difficult to hear.

" _Ezra and Sabine...the stormtroopers...we need you two down here. Zeb...tell Chopper...ready for takeoff."_

Zeb nodded to Kanan. _"Go. I'll tell Chopper to get the Ghost warmed up."_

* * *

" _C'mon Ezra, at least try to work with me here."_

Even without the burden of gravity, manhandling another person through the ventilation system of an abandoned starship was more difficult than Sabine had appreciated.

The adrenaline surge that had been sustaining Ezra had worn off, and the pain of his injured leg had returned. One look at his ashen face through the visor of his helmet confirmed it – he had gone into shock. It was a look that Sabine had seen before. In her time at the Imperial College on Mandalore, when she and her fellow cadets had been required to undergo training designed to test the limits of their physical and mental endurance.

Up ahead, the ventilation tunnel branched off into several outlets. Bracing herself with one hand against the wall of the tunnel, Sabine pushed Ezra past. As she did, her comm suddenly spluttered into life.

" _Get back! Get back!"_

" _Shine your light on-!"_

" _Some kind of droid...out of here!"_

Sabine lay, frozen with dread, as one by one the stormtroopers' comm channels fell silent. _Some kind of droid?_

Ezra tapped her on the shoulder, and gestured towards the nearest outlet. Sabine nodded. With shaky fingers, Ezra pulled his lightsaber from his belt and began to cut into the outlet cover.

" _Sabine? Ezra? Can you hear me?"_

" _Hera! Are you alright? What's going on?"_

Ezra grunted as he twisted to avoid a shower of sparks from the outlet.

" _I-I'm not sure. There must have been more droids down here. Look, Kanan and Zeb are on their way to you now. I'm heading back to the ship to get it warmed up."_

" _I can't get Kanan on my comm."_

" _Don't worry – I'm sure he'll find you eventually."_

After a few more seconds of cutting, the outlet cover drifted away into the room beyond. Despite Sabine's objections, Ezra went first, with his companion keeping a firm grip around his ankles. They shone their flashlights about, taking in their new surroundings.

" _Good news – we're back on the map. No more secret tunnels or storage rooms. According to the schematics...we are in what was one of the maintenance tunnels, near the lower gun deck."_ Sabine gestured with her free hand up the narrow passageway. _"If we keep heading back in that direction, we should run across the ship sooner or later."_

She looked over to Ezra, who had drifted a short distance away. His legs remained rigid, as he tried to keep his injured leg as straight as possible. Ezra's eyes were closed, and in that moment Sabine was painfully aware of just how _small_ he looked. The sleeves of his pressure suit were slightly too long, and his helmet was perched at an uncomfortable angle on his forehead. A quick kick brought the Mandalorian level with him.

" _Hey kid."_

There was no answer.

" _Ezra? Is the pain that bad? I can tell Sabine to crack open a medpack for when we get back to-"_ She broke off when Ezra waved her into silence.

" _Do you feel that?"_

The Padawan had screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could.

" _Ezra?"_

" _Cold...so cold."_

A wave of fear washed over Sabine as she stared at her companion. Acting on instinct, she activated her night vision filters and looked up and down the tunnel.

" _So much fear...so much anger."_

Sabine ran her hand across the grip of one of her blasters. The silence was unnerving. Steeling herself, she grabbed hold of Ezra's leg with one hand, and, ignoring his sharp intake of breath, set off down the corridor.

In the ghostly green light of the night vision filter, Sabine saw something move in her peripheral vision almost as soon as she had set off. Some kind of shadow, moving swiftly through the darkness behind them. Sabine caught a glimpse of long, spider-like limbs as she whirled around to face it.

" _Sabine!"_

" _I see it! Get behind me!"_

With terrifying speed, the shadow folded itself into a spider-like configuration, and came scuttling towards the pair across the ceiling. Sabine drew a blaster with her free hand, but before she could fire a single shot, a bonelike hand shot out of the gloom and ripped it from her grasp. Another hand pushed her back violently against the wall, while two more tore her away from Ezra and held him aloft like a doll, one hand at his ankle, the other at his throat.

Then, slowly, their attacker lowered its face towards them. Sabine twisted and turned in the iron grip of the creature, but stopped when she caught sight of the grisly apparition before her. A bone white mask, made of metal and ceramics, pitted and scarred around the eye sockets as if it had been burned from the inside out. Chunks of green gel, frozen by the cold, clung to the edges. But as the creature brought itself ever closer, Sabine noticed the eyes. The left was some kind of photoreceptor – standard on nearly every droid in the galaxy. However, despite being encased in metal and sealed behind a shield of transparisteel, the right eye was clearly organic.

Ezra made a quiet choking sound in her earpiece. Desperately, Sabine tried to pry off the metal fingers that were pinning her to the wall, but they refused to budge. As if sensing her struggle, the creature – _a cyborg? –_ cocked its head, and relaxed its grip on their throats. The Padawan gave a gasp of relief, but that turned into a cry of horror as the hand that had been at his throat clamped down on Sabine's helmet with brutal force. Sabine gave a yell of fright, and lashed out, her limbs bouncing silently off the metal limbs that imprisoned her.

At first, she could hear nothing besides her and her companion's panicked breathing. Then, quietly at first, but then with an earsplitting whine, something began to grind at the _beskar_ plating of her helmet. Before she could react, a tiny drill bit had emerged on the other side, carrying with it an equally tiny speaker that dangled down in front of her HUD.

" _Nod if you can hear me."_ The voice that echoed across the connection was an eerie combination of organic and synthetic. Sabine nodded, and the cyborg brought its face so close that it was almost touching her helmet.

" _If you value your life, I would suggest you listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you."_ There was a pause, and Sabine heard a gasp of panic from her companion as their captor drilled into his helmet.

" _Those troops the Republic sent to kill me were cowards. They soon ran to their shuttle when I revealed myself to them – but they will return, possibly with Jedi."_ A durasteel claw scraped silently over the markings on Sabine's helmet. _"A Mandalorian. Is Maul sending children to do his dirty work for him?"_

Without waiting for a reply, the cyborg pulled both humans up, holding them firmly by their helmets. _"Do not attempt to resist me. If I remove my hand, the vacuum will claim you in an instant."_

* * *

" _Feel anything?"_

" _Quiet, Zeb."_

" _Sorry."_

Kanan didn't answer. With Zeb at his back, the Jedi was threading his way through the dark corridors of the _Pride of Utapau IX._ His eyes remained closed – they would only distract from his use of the Force. In his mind's eye, he visualised the ship, peeling back layers of durasteel plating as he scanned for a familiar speck of starlight.

The bond between a Jedi and his Padawan was at its strongest in the face of adversity, and the one shared by Ezra and Kanan was no different. At such an early stage in his training, Ezra was showing great promise in his ability to react and respond to the Force in an unconscious way, although his other abilities still required work. It had been this skill that had led the rebels to Kanan's place of imprisonment over Mustafar, and the same skill that had warned of the approach of a dark Lord of the Sith. Now, Kanan would return the favour.

Without warning, the Jedi came to a sudden halt. Zeb swore as quietly as he could as he narrowly avoided crashing into him. With his hands outstretched, Kanan traced a seemingly random pattern on the bulkhead in front of him, murmuring quietly to himself as he did. Then, apparently satisfied, he keyed his comm.

* * *

" _Hera. I can't get either of the kids on the comm...but it looks like there's no need to worry. They're heading back towards you. "_

"Are you sure?"

" _Positive. They were moving quickly, too. Did Sabine bring her jetpack along when she went out earlier?"_

There was a loud tapping sound from somewhere behind her on the hull of the _Ghost_. Chopper emerged from his charging console with a querying whistle. Hera rose from the pilot's seat, unable to suppress a smile of relief. The tapping continued as Hera walked briskly to the airlock control panel.

"Alright kids, I heard you the first time." As she walked, Hera noticed Sabine's jetpack hanging from a wall bracket. She frowned, but kept walking. Her experienced fingers danced across the keypad. _Outer door...sealed. Pressure equalisers...online. Cabin atmosphere...normal._

Something made a buzzing sound in the cockpit.

"Chop, can you get that for me?" Dutifully, the orange astromech rolled over to the controls.

_Emergency seals in place...check. Atmosphere pumps to maximum...confirmed. Airlock checklist complete._

Chopper extended an arm, and opened the comm channel.

_Open airlock? Y/N_

" _Hera?"_

The Twi'lek looked up sharply. "Sabine?"

Outside, the tapping resumed. Hera's hand hovered over the control panel.

" _Hera...whatever you do..."_

_Open airlock? Y/N_

" _...please don't open the door."_

 


	5. Chapter 5

With a snarl of frustration, Kanan pulled himself through yet another barricade of debris. The corridors of the wreck were choked with broken droid parts and chunks of hull, and the absence of gravity made it especially difficult to move.

" _Zeb?"_

" _Take a left at the next...no, a right. Oh, karabast! I was holding it the wrong way up. "_

" _Now will you give me the map?"_

Sheepishly, the Lasat drifted close enough to Kanan to hand him the datapad.

" _Alright. Looks like we don't need to turn at all. The ship should be directly ahead."_

Together, Kanan and Zeb set to work removing a particularly large chunk of plating that was blocking the hallway. Bracing himself against Zeb, Kanan made a quick circular cut in the durasteel with his lightsaber, creating a hole big enough to squeeze through. There was no need to wait for it to cool.

" _We're nearly there, Ghost. Give us a minute, then we can get out of here."_ There was no reply, but Kanan knew that communications would be difficult through the many layers of hull plating that lay between them and their target.

Up ahead, the wall was stamped with a faded Banking Clan logo.

" _Look. That symbol. I remember passing it on our way in."_ Zeb nodded in agreement.

Passing through a broken doorway, the rebels emerged in what had once been the main hangar of the _Pride of Utapau IX._ The top half of the cavernous hangar had been completely ripped away, leaving behind a flat landing pad that was open to space, making it an ideal place to land the _Ghost._

" _Remember to activate your magnetic boots. Wouldn't want to drift away when we're this close to home."_

Kanan bent down to ensure his boots were properly gripping the deck. Zeb carried on past him. As he knelt, his thoughts returned to the mission. _Why go to all this effort for something as mundane as a battle droid?_

" _Um...Kanan?"_

Ever since the end of the Clone Wars, battle droids had become commonplace in mercenary armies across the galaxy. With billions of units still in storage on the Outer Rim, it would be little trouble for a man with the financial resources of Bail Organa to secure a droid or two. A tactical droid, however, would be more challenging – and Kanan was still in the dark as to how exactly this would aid people currently living under Imperial oppression.

" _Kanan!"_

A shadow fell over him as Zeb reappeared in the doorway.

" _What is it?"_

" _Are you sure we weren't meant to make that turn back there?"_

Kanan stood up. _"Of course. This cruiser only has one hangar bay..."_ He trailed off as he looked past Zeb's shoulder. The hangar bay was empty. No roof, no droids, no equipment – and no _Ghost._

" _Ghost, come in. State your last position."_

There was no reply. Kanan walked out onto the landing pad, and knelt to inspect the surface.

" _Well?"_

" _The Ghost_ was _here alright – look at these scorch marks."_

Then, amongst the hard, jagged durasteel architecture of the ship, Kanan caught a glimpse of something moving. Curious, he sent out a brief pulse of energy, scanning for life signs.

" _So, what's the plan? 'Cause I don't know about you, but I would quite like to find a place that provides both oxygen and gravity before my suit decides to power down."_

" _No!"_ With a yell that was loud enough to pop the speakers in Zeb's helmet, Kanan shoved past the Lasat and broke into a loping jog, moving as fast as his magnetic boots would allow towards the far wall of the destroyed hangar. The blade of Kanan's lightsaber flickered out, and Zeb instinctively reached for his rifle.

To Kanan, it was as if a red mist had descended over his eyes. He slashed furiously at the durasteel plating, his lightsaber crisscrossing the material in a furious whirlwind of blue light. Through his fogged-up helmet visor, he caught a glimpse of something on the floor behind the pile of scrap – the sole of a magnetic boot.

_Please no..._

One final swing sent the wreckage spinning silently away. Kanan tried to kneel, but the lack of gravity forced him to crouch uncomfortably. There was more than just a boot under the scrap – there was a figure in a spacesuit. Magnetic boots, padded jumpsuit, a flexible helmet...

" _Zeb, get over here!"_

The Lasat approached, clearly rattled. His hands hovered over the trigger of his rifle.

" _Hera!"_

The Twi'lek lay still, her suited lekku waving gently in the vacuum. Zeb noticed that Kanan was tightly pinching a fold of fabric on the leg of her spacesuit.

" _Is she...alright?"_

" _She's still alive, I know that much. Her suit's been torn though, and I can't tell how long she was floating out there. If it was for more than a minute..."_ Kanan broke off.

" _Karabast. Now what do we do?"_

For a moment, indecision and fear gripped both rebels. Zeb took up a defensive posture, menacing the shadows at the edges of the landing pad with his rifle. Kanan, however, felt paralysed. It was then that a shadow passed directly overhead. Drifting slowly into view from behind the shattered bridge of the cruiser was a familiar silhouette. Small and boxy, with a pair of stubby rectangular wings.

" _The Phantom. It must be the others. Hey! Down here!"_ Zeb tried to jump and wave his arms, but was held firmly in place by his boots. Kanan, however, stayed where he was, eyeing the transport craft with suspicion. The wings were folded out, and the ship was moving, but as it drifted overhead there was no sign of the familiar glow of the sublight engines. A ray of sunlight glinted off the transparisteel cockpit window, revealing an empty pilot's seat. Reaching out with the Force, Kanan scanned for life signs – and found none.

The _Phantom_ drifted clear of the landing pad and out into the debris field. In that moment, Kanan knew he would have to act, or the transport would be wrecked.

" _Zeb. Take Hera. Make sure to keep that tear on her suit shut."_

Kanan reluctantly released his grip on Hera, allowing her to drift weightlessly into the waiting arms of the Lasat. Turning his attention to the _Phantom,_ Kanan concentrated picturing the vessel drifting down onto the landing pad in his mind's eye. Slowly, the transport began to lose forward momentum, and after a minute or so it began to move back towards the wrecked cruiser.

* * *

The air onboard the _Phantom_ was unpleasantly stale.

"Zeb, get some oxygen going. See if you can't get us clear of this wreckage, too."

"I'm on it."

The familiar whine of the engines filled the cockpit as Zeb pulled away from the debris field. Seconds later, the air recycler kicked in, sending a strong breeze rushing through the cramped space.

Hera was lying across one of the bench seats on the wall of the Phantom. Gingerly, Kanan untangled her lekku from her flexible helmet. Stripping off his gloves, he applied two fingers to the base of her neck – and flinched. She was cold, very cold.

Closing his eyes, Kanan attempted to block out the world around him. Slowly, the sound of the engines, Zeb's nervous mumbling, and the rush of air from the recycler faded away. He concentrated in on the faint pulse of life-force he had felt out on the landing pad, and reached out to touch it with his mind. A few whispered words were all it took. Hera's mouth shot open as she took a deep, ragged gasp, her eyes rolling wildly in their sockets. One of her hands found his arm, grabbing it in a vicelike grip. Kanan did not react, allowing his gentle murmuring to continue. After several seconds, Hera's eyes fixed on the figure kneeling beside her.

"Kanan...?" The chill had brought an unusual hoarseness to her voice.

The Jedi let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in. "It's alright Hera. We've got you."

Hera nodded, blinking her jade eyes furiously as she willed herself to focus on her surroundings. "Where...are we on the _Phantom..._ but I thought..."

She tried to rise from the bench, but Kanan gently held her in place. "Whoa, whoa. Easy. Take your time. How are we looking, Zeb? Any sign of the _Ghost?_ "

"Nothing."

"Try the data recorder."

Zeb tapped at the control console, bringing up the _Phantom_ 's system logs. Every time the transport ship was launched, computers logged key aspects of the flight.

"There. Right at the start. _Docking clamps released_ and _stabilisers extended._ The _Phantom_ wasn't launched – it was ejected with no one on board. Why?"

Kanan knelt back down beside Hera.

"Hera – the kids. You said they made it back to the _Ghost_ over the radio. What happened next?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for reading. I've got a backlog of chapters on the way, so expect chapters 6-10 within the next few days. Enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

Gritting his teeth, Ezra fought to hold back tears as pain flared up his injured leg.

"S-sorry, sorry. Hold on." Sabine pressed down firmly on the bacta patch, allowing the adhesive to take effect. She winced as she heard him give an answering hiss.

The cargo hold of the _Ghost_ was cold and dark, lit only by a single emergency light mounted over the main doorway. By Ezra's chronometer, it had only been an hour since they had boarded the _Ghost._

_An hour since-_

Ezra's train of thought was interrupted by a sudden jolt _,_ followed by the distinctive whine of the hyperdrive. Sabine straightened up from where she had been bending over him, her face shadowed.

"We've jumped." Ezra's heart sank. He knew now with bitter certainty that Kanan and Zeb had been left behind. Sabine remained silent as she finished her work.

With Ezra's wound properly bandaged, Sabine sank down against the wall next to him with an exhausted sigh, wiping her brightly coloured fringe away from her eyes. She looked down across her own body, checking herself for wounds – there were none. However, try as she did, Sabine was powerless to stop her hands from shaking. Every time she closed her eyes, her head filled with images. The exterior of the _Ghost._ Hera's face as she tumbled out of the airlock. White hands clawing at her equipment belt, before tossing her through the open cargo bay door.

"Sabine."

There was no reply. Ezra turned his head to look at her.

"Sabine?"

The Mandalorian looked over at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Ezra felt his stomach churn.

"She's dead, isn't she."

"Sabine-"

Sabine's voice rose to a panicked wail. "She's dead! Kanan's dead, Zeb's dead – and it's my fault!" She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her head between them, smothering any further noise.

Several minutes passed in deathly silence, broken only by the familiar vibration of hyperspace travel. Tentatively, Ezra laid an arm across Sabine's shoulder pads, and was encouraged when she did nothing to push him away.

"C'mon Sabine. We've got to find a way out of here." Ezra scanned the gloomy hold, searching for anything that might be helpful. "What about the _Phantom?_ The service hatch is by the wall over there."

Sabine rose and crossed the floor of the hold. She crouched next to the hatch and inspected the instrument panel attached to it.

"...Damm!"

"What is it?"

"The hatch is sealed. The launch bay must be open."

Ezra frowned. "It can't be. The Phantom was docked to us the entire time."

A few experimental kicks yielded no results. Defeated, Sabine took aim at her helmet, angrily booting it across the hold.

As if in response, there was a tapping sound at the door.

Ezra shrank back against the wall. He and Sabine were defenceless – their weapons had not accompanied them into the hold. Sabine looked around wildly. Spying a stack of crates in the far corner, she dashed over and prised open the lid of one stamped with Imperial roundels.

"Sabine? What are you doing?"

Sabine emerged from the crate with a factory-new Imperial E-11 blaster. "Shhh. Lie as flat as you can and stay out of sight."

The instrument panel on the door gave out in a shower of sparks. Sabine crouched down behind the crates, lining up the doorway through the sights of the blaster. The door rattled back and forth on its tracks, then was roughly pulled aside. From his position on the floor, Ezra saw a monstrous figure outlined by the bright cabin lights.

For an instant, Sabine seemed frozen at the sight of the nightmarish apparition. Then the cyborg moved, shaking it's mask as it adjusted to the gloom of the cargo hold. Quickly overcoming her shock, Sabine opened fire.

With a guttural, gargling roar, the cyborg propelled itself through the doorway to land with a crash on the floor of the cargo hold. Before Sabine could adjust her firing angle, it had crossed the distance to the stack of crates in two leaping bounds. Both arms darted out at lightning speed, knocking the crates aside. One hand latched around Sabine's neck before hoisting her off the deck, while the other caught and reversed the falling rifle. The action was so fast, so violent, that neither Ezra nor Sabine had time to draw breath.

Sabine screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the hand at her neck to throttle her. Her nostrils filled with the smell of ozone, and something hot poked at her chin – the barrel of her blaster.

" _Insolent creature."_ The voice seemed about to say more before it was interrupted by a fit of deep, hacking coughs.

The cargo hold light revealed the true appearance of their captor. Tall yet skeletal, the body of the cyborg was composed of ceramoplast and durasteel plating, which had turned a sickly grey colour in patches due to long-term exposure to bacta fluid. The 'ribcage' was wrapped around a metal container that presumably held internal organs, and connected to the head by a flexible hose. The head was sleek and mouth-less, with a pair of flanges in place of ears. Many parts of the cyborg also appeared scorched, as if it had been burned from the inside-out, particularly around the eyes.

 _That voice._ Ezra was certain he'd heard it before.

" _You thought you could harm me with this? Bah."_

_Those holos Kanan showed me..._

"You're...you're General Grievous, aren't you."

* * *

Without relaxing his grip on the Mandalorian's throat, General Grievous turned his head to look at the boy. His cybernetic eye took in the discarded pressure suit, the open medical kit, and the blaster wound, while his one good eye examined his fearful expression.

" _Ahhh. So, the boy can speak."_ He opened his hand, and the girl dropped to the deck, gasping for air. _"No doubt you know that I am not one to be crossed."_

The boy nodded.

" _As we speak, this ship is on course for the Separatist stronghold world of Mustafar. I trust they will be expecting me."_ At the mention of the volcanic planet, both the boy and the girl started to protest, but Grievous waved them into silence. _"In the meantime, you will explain to me your motivations for passing through the Shuuk system."_

The girl was sullenly silent, her eyes continually darting around in search of a weapon. Grievous felt his irritation rise, but he was briefly distracted when the boy volunteered an answer.

"We're scavengers."

Grievous made a growling sound. He stalked across the deck to where Sabine's helmet lay, tapping against it with a clawed foot. _"Is that all?"_

"We're not with any Mandalorians. She's just...a part of the crew."

Grievous paused to consider this. As unlikely as it sounded, he knew that Mandalorians, for all their talk of bravery, often lacked the honour to remain with their own kind. There were, however, details which still required explanation.

" _The Twi'lek female who was onboard. Who was she?"_

"She was the captain. Captain Hera-"

" _You lie. No sentient in the galaxy with any business sense would put a tailhead female in charge of their vessel. I doubt she was little more than the real captain's...bed-warmer."_

With an incoherent cry of rage, the Mandalorian girl leapt up from her kneeling position, brandishing a long-handled hydrospanner. She whipped the tool up at Grievous's mask, but the General darted out of the way. A hand intercepted the blow, sending the girl stumbling back into a stack of crates, while the hydrospanner remained firmly in his grip. Grievous gave a mirthless chuckle. _"It seems I have struck a nerve."_

The girl glared back at him, but said nothing. The General slowly bent the tool in his ceramoplast fingers, delighting in the fear he saw flashing behind her eyes.

" _Save your strength, child. If you truly are a born warrior, my torturers will be sure to test every inch of you for weakness."_

Briefly, Grievous considered killing both of them. It would take little effort on his part – a broken window, a well-aimed punch, a blaster bolt – any method would be effective on such fragile creatures. However, it was at that moment that the cockpit hyperspace alarm began to blare, signalling that the ship was nearing its destination. With a growl – and a contemptuous cough - Grievous turned on his heel and leapt up the ladder to the cargo hold door. He would figure out the story behind his captives and the ship soon enough. For Grievous, reaching the safety of Mustafar was now the top priority.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, all feedback is welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

The door to the decompression chamber swung open with a groan, revealing a trio of humanoids sitting in a circle around a tiny heating unit. One human, one Twi'lek, and one Lasat – all of whom looked miserable.

"Orrelios and Jarrus, time's up." Commander Sato tapped the edge of his datapad impatiently with a stylus. The two crewmen flanking him stepped into the chamber to help the human and the Lasat to their feet.

"Take them to my office. There will be fresh uniforms awaiting you there."

The third figure began to rise, but Sato held up his hand.

"I'm sorry, Captain Syndulla, but orders are orders. A half cycle of vacuum exposure requires at least a full rotation in the chamber before you can return to duty."

With a dejected sigh, Hera slumped back against the thinly padded bench seat as the door sealed itself behind her. Despite the insistence of the medical team, she was certain that she was well enough to leave the chamber. Hera winced and shifted uncomfortably as the back of the seat dug into the irregular bruise on her spine, just level with the tip of her left lek. What had started as a sharp pain had eased, thanks to the liberal application of bacta patches by the fleet medics. It had been over four hours since Kanan, Zeb and Hera had been picked up by the fleet after drifting in the Phantom for what had felt like days, but probably had only been a few more hours.

Something tapped against the door to the chamber. Hera sat up, shielding her eyes from the light as the door slowly opened. Inwardly, she groaned – it was probably another medical droid. A hand landed on her shoulder, but not one made of metal.

"C'mon. You look like you need a mug of caf."

"But I thought-"

Ahsoka Tano chuckled. "Orders are orders, Captain Syndulla."

* * *

Several minutes later, Hera was seated on a stool in a room that had been converted into a makeshift office, sipping caf from a ceramoplast mug.

"I...I'm sorry, Ahsoka. We failed."

Ahsoka Tano gave a sigh, and leaned back on her own stool. The rebel agent was dressed in a loose-fitting grey robe, with her usual suit of armour lying stacked at the foot of her sleeping pallet. Despite having clearly been dragged away from what little sleep she could get, Ahsoka appeared as alert as ever.

"There's no need to feel sorry. I know you tried your best out there, and I wouldn't have sent you and your crew if I thought you weren't up to the task."

Hera smiled weakly at Ahsoka's words, but they did nothing to quell the guilt that weighed heavily on her mind.

"How's Kanan taking it?"

Hera sighed. "Not well. It's bad enough with Sabine, but with Ezra...there's something else. It said it made him feel sick, even after we got picked up."

"The bond between a Master and their Padawan is equally strong in both directions. If his symptoms are persisting...then Ezra may still be alive."

"Really?"

"Maybe. It's not something I ever experienced for long...even when my Master..." Ahsoka trailed off. A look passed across her face – one that Hera knew better than to ask about. In the short time she had personally known Ahsoka, she had learned that the wounds from whatever tragedies had occurred in her past were still somewhat raw.

"You can't give up hope, Hera. They're stronger than most, for their age. I wouldn't be surprised if they managed to find their way back to us."

"It's a big galaxy."

Ahsoka smiled. "We'll find them. If the Empire took the _Ghost,_ then I'm sure they won't be able to stop themselves telling each other about it. You'd be surprised how easy it can be for us to slice their networks."

"And...if it wasn't the Empire?" A vision of a white hand whipping through the gloom towards her flashed before her eyes. _What kind of stormtrooper has six fingers?_

Ahsoka frowned, and opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by the comm unit on her desk.

" _Commander Tano. Your presence is requested on the bridge."_

Pulling a thick coat over her medical gown, Hera downed the last dregs of her caf and followed Ahsoka to the bridge of the corvette. As they entered, a helmeted rebel from Mon Calamari waved them over to his terminal. Commander Sato nodded to them as they entered from his position at the map table.

"General Tano. We've been sweeping the surrounding systems for signals from the _Ghost._ No duracrete evidence has come through yet, but a transmission came through about an hour ago that I think you ought to hear. "

"Where from?"

"From a subspace listening droid we deployed near the Mustafar system." The technician tapped at his holoscreen, and seconds later the terminal began to emit a faint series of beeps and whistles.

Hera narrowed her eyes as she read through the telemetry data. "The _Ghost_ sometimes transmits on this frequency...but that's not a code I've ever used before."

Ahsoka nodded to the technician. "Get this decrypted. I'll need a full report."

"General Tano!"

Hera and Ahsoka looked up sharply. Commander Sato waved at them frantically from the other side of the bridge.

"I...I think you ought to see this."

* * *

For more than an hour, the Supreme Commander of the armies of the CIS had tried in vain to make contact with his forces scattered throughout the galaxy. At first, he had stuck to the encrypted channels, but when he received no response Grievous switched to civilian and commercial bands.

 _Nothing. The Republic must be jamming me._ With one hand, Grievous pulled the hyperwave transmitter terminal from the wall bracket in the mess room and stomped it flat underfoot. If his messages had been received, however, he could be confident that a sizeable Separatist fleet would be awaiting his arrival in the Mustafar system. The thought brought a rare chuckle to his vocoder as Grievous kicked the terminal aside. From the safety of the mining planet, he would plan his next move. _Perhaps a triumphant Holonet Broadcast will be in order...one for the Confederacy, and one for the Republic._

The weapons of his captives lay where he had discarded them, on a games table in the mess room. The girl had been carrying a pair of decorated blasters, while the boy had been armed only with an ugly homemade stunner. Grievous turned the weapon over in his hands, before tossing it aside with a dismissive snarl. Like everything he had seen of the ship so far, it was overly-complicated and poorly maintained. This was certainly not a ship used by individuals with any sense of discipline or military skill – there was no central weapons store, no defensive citadel, and hardly any emergency equipment onboard. One room in particular was a hideous, garish mess of purple and red paint, although Grievous did appreciate the effort that had gone into defacing Republic property, such as the large stack of clone trooper helmets he had found splattered with graffiti. _At least these scavengers are no friends of the Jedi._

Even the thought of the Jedi was enough to sour the mood of the General. His hands instinctively went to the clips at his waist – only to find all four empty.

_Kenobi._

In his mind's eye, he watched as his lightsabers fell from his grasp. Two had been cut away, the others torn from his hands by the Force. Grievous clenched and unclenched his ceramoplast fists in silent fury. The Jedi had been stronger then he had expected, a duellist whose defensive skill was unmatched by any other opponent. Slow and methodical, he was the first to give no ground to the General, even when attacked from four angles at once. The speed with which Kenobi had dismantled his assault was humiliation enough, but for Grievous the greatest dishonour came from the knowledge that a Jedi had bested him in unarmed combat. He had _cheated_ the General out of his victory.

After the final duel on the landing pad, Grievous remembered little. Flashes of light, the rumble of engines – certainly nothing of the medical procedures that must have saved his life. Grievous caught sight of himself on a mirror as he stalked past another sleeping area. His armour, normally porcelain-white, had been stained an ugly grey by bacta. Looking down at his torso, Grievous observed the handiwork of his medical droids. His fragile gutsack had been completely replaced by a metal barrel which enclosed what was left of his lungs and other organs. His limbs were all intact, with replacement hands fitted to his secondary arms. Finally, the droids had repaired his face, fitting an advanced cybernetic eye into his left socket, whilst reinforcing the transparisteel shield over the other.

All that work, yet the droids had still neglected to rectify his breathing problem. Grievous growled as he ran his hand over the cybernetic eye, knowing that the additions would only draw more disdainful comments from the Council – _particularly that Nemodian slime, Nute Gunray._ For some reason, the sight of his charred and stained mask seemed to stir a long forgotten memory in his mind, yet as soon as he tried to focus on it it was snatched away. His train of thought was interrupted by the wail of the hyperspace alarm.

A few quick strides brought him into the cockpit of the vessel, bathed in the blue light of the warp tunnel. Grievous ran an expert eye across the control panels, examining their layout and function. He settled his clawed feet on the pedals and took the control column in his hands, noting the distinctive dual-pronged design. This was a Corellian vessel, although not a model that Grievous was familiar with. As a skilled pilot, he preferred a craft with sensitive control surfaces and a full suite of weapons, such as his customised Bellbulab-22 starfighter, _Soulless One._

 _One minute left._ The General busied himself with the navigation computer, marking a point where the ship would emerge from hyperspace. Annoyingly, none of the Separatist marker stations or hyperwave transmitters were showing up on the screens. Suddenly, Grievous became aware of a dull thumping sound from the rear of the ship. One glance confirmed that the mess hall and corridor was clear, yet the noise continued.

_My captives are testing me._

For a moment, Grievous was torn. The stubbornness of the two children in the cargo hold was irritating him to no end, and he was painfully aware of how easy it would be to permanently silence them both. However, as a seasoned pilot, he was also aware of the risks involved with exiting hyperspace without a hand on the control column, particularly in a ship as decrepit as the one he was in. Grievous glanced over at the orange astromech that was plugged into a charging terminal in one corner of the cockpit, but any notion of entrusting the manoeuvre to the droid quickly vanished when the General caught a glimpse of how old and battered it looked.

 _Thirty seconds left._ The banging at the cargo hold door intensified. Grievous emitted a frustrated gargle.

" _You! Come here, droid."_

Slowly, the astromech emerged from the charging port.

" _Interface yourself with the cargo doors. As soon as we emerge into realspace...dump the contents of the hold into the vacuum."_


	8. Chapter 8

" _...now to our final order of business. Admiral Konvarr, what is the current situation in the Mustafar system? Anything to report?"_

Admiral Konvarr, a tall, olive-skinned human clad in the gray uniform of the Imperial Navy, bowed respectfully towards the hologram of the Outer Rim Council.

"Governor Tarkin, gentlemen. There have been no major developments in the system since our last meeting. The new long-wave transmitter in the Bahtmuka Sector is finally operational, and the newest _Victory-_ class patrol frigate has joined up with the 300th Star Corps stationed nearby. As for activity on the surface of Mustafar…I have some production figures on me that may be of interest…"

Konvarr paused as he flipped through his notes on his datapad. The semicircle of military officials projected before him shifted restlessly as he began to list off a series of quarterly figures.

" _I do not mean to interrupt your...meticulous situational report, Admiral Konvarr, but as our time together in these meetings is short I believe that the Governor was interested in a particular piece of information."_

Konvarr fought to keep a neutral expression as he acknowledged the speaker. "I agree, Admiral Konstantine. Governor Tarkin?"

" _You know very well what I'm waiting to hear, Konvarr. How are the repair works progressing on my flagship?"_

"The repairs are progressing steadily, Governor, but…I'm afraid it may be some time yet before the hull is ready for transportation back to a docking facility. I have droid crews working day and night." Konvarr was silently glad that the blue holograph transmitter was not picking up the colour of his cheeks – they were practically glowing with embarrassment. Despite the interference on the transmission, the Admiral could hear his colleagues murmuring amongst themselves.

Governor Tarkin leaned forward in his chair, his pixelated face briefly dissolving into a sinister mass of sharp lines. _"You have weeks, not months, to repair the damage caused by those terrorists. It was on your watch that they managed to get aboard, and it was on your watch that they were allowed to cover their retreat from Mustafar. Have I made myself abundantly clear?"_

"Yes, Governor."

" _This goes for all of you, gentlemen. Incompetence and oversight will not be tolerated. The Outer Rim territories cannot be governed without first being pacified. Dismissed."_

The hologram dissipated, and the lights in the communications chamber flickered on. Seething with anger and embarrassment, Konvarr snatched his datapad from the table and strode out into the corridor, ignoring the stormtroopers who snapped to attention as he passed. Arriving at his office, Konvarr waited for the door to swing closed behind him – before pitching his datapad as hard as he could towards the window behind his desk.

Predictably, as with every other window aboard an _Imperial-_ class Star Destroyer, the datapad did not even scratch the reinforced transparisteel. Instead, the device split in two and the pieces ricocheted around the office. Sensing the uneasy mood, the silver protocol droid that had been standing by at the door shuffled away.

In the silence that followed, Admiral Konvarr collapsed with a sigh into his desk chair.

At every turn throughout his career in the Imperial military, Konstantine had competed with Konvarr – for promotions, deployments, resources, and even for women during their time at the Academy. If the two men had been friends, such a relationship may have been a positive one, but Konvarr was convinced that his rival was acting out of spite.

The Admiral sighed again, and reached into the cabinet under his desk, retrieving a small bottle of liquid that smelt faintly of bacta fluid. He gulped down a shot, coughed, then resumed staring at the stars through the office window.

Konvarr had been in command of the 17th Outer Rim Patrol Group some months ago, tasked with the honourable duty of escorting Governor Tarkin in his personal flagship, the _Sovereign,_ as it toured the Outer Rim territories. During a week-long visit to an agricultural backwater planet, the Imperial Inquisition had requested the Governor's assistance in capturing a group of terrorists. Following a successful ground mission, one of the rebels had been brought aboard the _Sovereign_ for immediate transfer to Mustafar.

 _How did that_ schutta _get away with it?_ Konstantine had been in command of the _Sovereign_ during the sabotage – yet somehow the blame for the entire incident had been shifted onto Konvarr. Now, here he was, forced to stand guard over the wreck until it had been rebuilt. The 17th had been _gifted_ to Konstantine as a reward for his service, and was currently on the other side of the galaxy – while Konvarr's command had been reduced to a single vessel, the _Bellicose._

The outline of the _Sovereign_ loomed large in his office window. From this distance, Konvarr could see the black shapes of repair droids crawling across the ruined hull, as they had done so for over two months. The Admiral made a rude gesture towards the wreck, then took another swig from the bottle.

The comm unit on his desk flashed. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, the Admiral tucked the bottle back under his desk.

"Konvarr here."

" _Admiral. Your presence is requested on the bridge, sir."_

"What for?"

" _A ship just came out of hyperspace in the Mustafar Exclusion Zone, sir. The Captain says you'll want to take a look."_

"Captain Lut? Report."

A new voice, more urgent this time, came over the comm unit.

" _Admiral. It's the terrorists. I…I think they're coming back to finish the job."_

* * *

There, silhouetted against the blood-red glow of Mustafar, was the outline of a starship. At first, Grievous could only make out a distant speck. Still staring through the cockpit window, the cyborg pressed the transmit button on the instrument panel.

" _Unidentified vessel. Requesting an escort to the surface. Clearance code 4-9-2-0."_

There was no reply. Grievous repeated the message across various frequencies, making sure to add a few choice threats. Most of the vessels that patrolled the system would be small and crewed entirely by droids who, in the General's experience, required coercion in order to accomplish even the smallest of tasks.

Then, as Grievous watched, a shadow eclipsed the red orb of Mustafar. The cyborg went to repeat his message – but stopped dead, frozen in place.

Long, grey and triangular, with a tall superstructure at the rear – it was unmistakeably a Republic Star Destroyer. The transmitter crackled, and Grievous was able to make out a single word amongst the background interference.

" _...surrender..."_

The Jedi had followed him to Mustafar. Somehow, despite the reputation of the mining world as one of the most secure fortresses in the Outer Rim, and despite the colossal concentration of Separatist starships in the sector, a Star Destroyer – although not a model Grievous recognised – had been sent to block off his escape route.

Grievous sat, paralysed by shock, as the bulk of the Republic vessel loomed large in the cockpit window. It took him several seconds to process that, rather than observing the enemy from the bridge of the _Invisible Hand,_ he was practically helpless, stranded aboard a decrepit scavenger's ship. Shaking his head, the General made a few frantic calculations. The Republic cruiser was not yet in tractor beam range – and that meant he still had a chance. All he needed to do was fend off any fighter attacks until the hyperdrive had recharged. The starscape outside the cockpit window blurred as Grievous threw the modified freighter into a sharp turn, away from the pursuing vessel. The transmitter made another garbled noise, but it was ignored.

" _Droid! Forget the cargo door - raise the deflector shields and activate all defensive weapons!"_

The orange astromech made a plaintive chirping sound.

" _Impossible!"_ Grievous stabbed a finger angrily into the nearest holoscreen, calling up a schematic of the ship. The defensive turbolasers were located in turrets on the rear, midsection and chin of the freighter, a standard Corellian configuration. To his dismay, the schematic seemed only to confirm the droid's response – all of the weapons systems, including turrets, were manually operated.

For the second time in as many minutes, the General was frozen by indecision. Without turrets, the deflector shields would not protect the ship for long against the squadron of Republic fighters that were probably bearing down upon him. If the ship was set to fly straight and level, he could possibly man one of the manual guns – but without an experienced hand at the helm, any fighter pilot would be able to run him down.

The astromech whistled again.

" _I am in command! Do not interrupt me!"_

Grievous was half tempted to hurl the thing against the nearest bulkhead for daring to advise him, but he was too distracted. Splitting his arms, the cyborg straddled both control consoles as he used all four hands to examine the interfaces, angling the deflector shields sternwards and opening the throttles wide on the sublight engines.

 _The captives in the hold._ The droid had said they knew how to operate the turrets. _But could they be trusted…?_

Two alarms sounded in the cockpit. The first was the familiar drone of hyperspace alarm, signalling that the recharging process was underway. The second was the surprisingly sophisticated scanner system, which had detected multiple fast moving objects heading towards the ship. _Fighters._

The seconds seemed to drag by as General Grievous sat, hunched over the controls of the freighter. Finally, he slammed one ceramoplast hand down on the controls, silencing the alarms. Then, he rose, narrowing his good eye at the astromech.

" _Do not attempt any heroics, droid. If you do, I'll make sure you follow those children out of the airlock after I'm done with them."_

With a snarl of impotent rage, Grievous bolted from the cockpit.

* * *

"Come on Ezra, please. Just one more solid hit, then we're through."

Exhausted, Ezra slumped back against the wall of the cargo hold, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm alright, just give me a minute."

Sabine lowered the makeshift battering ram she had fashioned out of scaffolding and crate straps to the floor, and examined the blisters on her hands. For more than an hour, she and Ezra had been attempting to crack open the plasteel casing of the door lock, taking turns swinging the ram. Ezra, handicapped by the pain of his blaster wound, had been exhausted before they had even begun, and even Sabine was starting to tire.

From somewhere beneath their feet, the pair heard a loud rumble, audible over the whine of the engines.

"What was that?"

The deck vibrated underfoot, louder this time. The overhead lighting flickered ominously. Sabine cautiously lowered the makeshift ram to the deck, and put her ear to the bulkhead.

"The deflector shields…they've been raised. The _Ghost_ is under attack!"

Ezra looked at her, a hopeful expression passing across his face for the first time in nearly twelve hours. "Is it…Phoenix Squadron?"

Seizing the moment, Sabine clapped a hand on her companion's shoulder. "We'll only have one shot at this, Ezra. As soon as we break down this door, we go straight for the _Phantom_ while that…droid…is distracted. Are you with me?"

Ezra smiled. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Sabine nodded, scooping the ram off the floor. "One last hit should do it. Try to aim for-"

Without warning, the door sprang open. Ezra and Sabine hardly had time to react before a pair of metal hands batted the ram from their grasp, while two more hands grabbed them by their shoulders and pulled them through into the corridor beyond. Sabine rolled across the metal floor, her hands scrabbling for a weapon – but she stopped when she felt herself being hauled upright.

" _On your feet, scavenger scum! If you have battle stations on this scrapheap, I suggest you get to them!"_


	9. Chapter 9

To Ezra Bridger, it was as if he was clothed in nothing but the vacuum of space. His entire body was numb with cold, and he was surrounded by darkness. Then, as he watched, something drifted into view. A long white object, pitted and scarred, made of some unknown material. He blinked, and the object shifted into sharper focus.

Someone was yelling in his ear. The voice was muffled, as if he were listening to it through a thick wall, although he thought he could hear is name being called.

Then something struck him hard across the face, and everything seemed to _snap_ into life. His ears rang, his eyes stung, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Through the tears, Ezra watched as the white object – _a mask_ – moved closer to his face. For a moment, Ezra gazed at the terrifying apparition in shock. His mouth lolled open, and he felt like fainting again.

" _Ezra? Ezra! Can you hear me?"_ The voice was painfully loud in his ear.

"Sabine?" Startled, he tried to sit up, only to feel something cold and metallic clutching at his leg. Ezra looked down to see that his right ankle had been handcuffed to the railing next to his seat. Looking around, he realised that he was sitting in the chin turret of the _Ghost_.

" _Ezra! The Phantom. Do you understand? The Phantom!"_

Something was grabbing his other leg. A hand, six fingered and metallic, appeared in front of him, latching firmly around his left wrist. Ezra tried to yell, but he could only coax a gasp from his dry throat.

Ezra watched as the ghastly _thing_ craned its head around to look at him. A strange wheezing sound emanated from behind the faded white mask.

" _Your astromech assures me that you are skilled enough to operate this turret. I suggest you stay awake_ – " Ezra jumped as a clawed finger scraped around the base of his neck – _"and follow my orders."_

With a nauseating rushing sensation, Ezra's head cleared, and his memories of the past few hours came rushing back. He looked down, and caught a glimpse of the makeshift bandage, stained red with blood, that was covering the blaster wound on his leg.

Growling, the cyborg turned and stamped up the passageway towards the cockpit. He did not seem to notice as the young human slumped forward in his chair and fell still.

* * *

Sabine Wren watched as the cyborg pulled itself up from the chin turret in a single motion, landing on the deck in front of her with a crash. Whatever defiant words she had planned to say to her captor vanished as she watched the cyborg pull itself up to its full height, the tip of its skull-like head nearly touching the roof. Sweeping an imaginary cape aside with one hand, it jabbed the other forcefully against her breastplate.

" _Forget about him! Get to your station immediately!"_

Stumbling backwards, Sabine cringed back from her captor, expecting another blow to follow. Then the ship was rocked by another blast, and the young Mandalorian found herself being unceremoniously dragged into the staging area beneath the dorsal turret. The cyborg pushed her roughly against the ladder with a contemptuous cough, before turning and dashing back towards the cockpit.

Still clutching the ladder, Sabine readjusted her headset. The access door the _Phantom_ lay just behind her, and beyond that lay their ticket home. A mid-hyperspace undocking was definitely possible in theory – _and desperate times call for even more desperate measures._

"Ezra? Can you hear me?"

Sabine winced as a harsh voice burst over her earpiece. _"Silence! You will do exactly as I say. Man the defences and prepare to attack!"_

Slowly, as if she was sneaking up on a timid animal, Sabine pulled herself up into the seat of the turret, hoping that the heavily tinted bubble would hide her movements.

There were three of them out there. The first Twin Ion Engine fighter was keeping pace with the _Ghost,_ hovering in position only a few ship lengths behind. Two other TIEs were flying in formation further behind.

 _An escort formation._ Looking behind her, Sabine glimpsed the distant shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer, silhouetted against Mustafar.

" _The Republic must think that little warning shot they gave me would be enough to secure my surrender. You in the upper turret – destroy those fighters!"_

Sabine took a deep breath as she fought to banish her other worries from her mind, focusing in on the task at hand. _First the TIEs, then onto the Phantom._

In one smooth motion, she released the lock on the turret and pivoted towards the closest Imperial fighter. At such close range, she only needed one shot. The blast from the twin cannons struck the lead TIE directly in the central pod, crumpling it like a piece of discarded flimsi before it silently detonated, sending debris flying in all directions.

To their credit, the remaining Imperial pilots reacted almost instantly. The second TIE veered off to the right and out of her field of fire, but the third made the mistake of going into a steep climb. The Mandalorian brought the cannons to their maximum elevation and squeezed off a burst, and was rewarded with the bright white flash of a hypermatter explosion as the bolts found the fighter's fuel cells.

It was then, as the _Ghost_ performed another stomach-churning manoeuvre, that Sabine caught a glimpse of the _Phantom's_ docking bay between her gunsights.

It was empty.

With a sickening sensation, the brief adrenaline rush of combat drained away to be replaced by a feeling of hopelessness. There was no way she and Ezra could escape now.

The _Ghost_ shuddered, and a voice roared angrily in her ear.

" _The boy is refusing to fire! I will adjust our course to give you a shot."_

Sabine braced herself against the turret bubble as the ship activated its inertial dampeners and pitched violently forward. The TIE that had been attacking them from beneath was caught off guard by the manoeuvre and shot past overhead. With one hand, Sabine rotated the turret towards it, while with the other she desperately clutched her headset to her ear.

"Ezra! Listen to me!" Sabine squeezed the trigger, but the bolts flew wide of the target as the _Ghost_ performed a sudden roll.

"Stay where you are – I'm coming straight to you! Forget the _Phantom_!"

Without waiting for a reply, Sabine ripped off her headset and slid out of the seat of the turret. Ignoring the ladder, she rolled as she hit the deck before breaking into a run towards the central area of the ship. Dashing down the central corridor, Sabine caught only a glimpse of a skeletal figure hunched over the controls in the cockpit. Pausing to grab one of her blasters from the table in the mess hall, she darted down the ladder and along the passage towards the chin turret.

* * *

In the peripheral vision afforded by his cybernetic eye, General Grievous saw a flash of movement beyond the open cockpit door. He had heard the girl abandon her post a few seconds earlier – _no doubt she is rushing to find a hiding place. Coward._

The scavenging ship shuddered as a volley of fire hammered into the deflector shields. For an instant, the General expected them to fail, yet the status indicator on the console remained green. _Curious._ A sharp tug on the control column slowed the freighter enough to allow the final Republic fighter to overshoot. Grievous caught a glimpse of black solar panels and bright blue exhaust – _a new prototype? –_ and then it was gone. The fighter passed dangerously close to the silent chin turret, and Grievous let out a frustrated growl. His captives had well and truly outlived their usefulness.

Outside the cockpit window, the red orb of Mustafar swung into view once again. The Star Destroyer was now closing rapidly, and as Grievous watched a swarm of new scanner contacts appeared on the scopes. The Republic had clearly spared no expense in preparing this trap for him.

At long last, the sharp whine of the hyperspace alarm pierced the air. With a triumphant snarl, Grievous mashed the hyperdrive switch – and the comm switch - down with a clenched fist.

" _Until we meet again, General Kenobi!'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, all feedback is appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

" _Whoever heard of a pirate clad in Mandalorian beskar? Whoever heard of a scavenger ship, captained by a female Twi'lek? Nobody!"_

Fighting to maintain a grip on the cable with her sweaty hands, Sabine continued her efforts to unwind the bonds around her wrists. Her neck and shoulders were sore, her throat was dry, and her eyes felt heavy from a lack of sleep – but still she persevered.

She and Ezra had been dragged up from the lower deck as soon as the _Ghost_ had entered hyperspace, under the pretext that Grievous wanted to interrogate them further – but after what seemed like hours, Grievous had done little more than rant at empty air. He stalked up and down in the cramped cabin, gathering the folds of an invisible cape behind him as he moved. The agitation was visible in his every movement, as he pounded his metal fists against the bulkheads and tossed fragile objects about the cabin. Yet one thing stood out to Sabine far more than anything else - Grievous was _confused_.

In that confusion, Sabine saw an opportunity.

"… _and if you are nothing but lowly_ scavengers _, explain to me how your ship was able to maintain a deflector shield of such strength, or power a turret that could destroy a Republic fighter with a single shot?"_

Sabine did not meet his gaze. She looked over to where her companion was sitting. Ezra was slumped over in his chair, held upright only by the crude restraints around his shoulders and midriff. Wounded and exhausted after more than a day without sleep, he had drifted into unconsciousness, with only the shallow rise and fall of his chest indicating that he was still alive.

Sabine felt the first tangle of wire give way from around her wrist. Grievous continued his rambling tirade.

" _The Jedi thought that they could contain me, force me into surrender. Truly, they lie when they claim to have defeated General Grievous. Mustafar will not remain in their possession for much longer."_

" _You_ are the one who's lying. The _real_ General Grievous has been dead for twenty years."

The room fell silent. The mask swiveled in her direction, and the flanged earpieces perked up in what she hoped was shock. Seeing that she had caught him off guard, Sabine pressed on, hoping that her recollection of history was correct. Behind her back, her probing fingers caught hold of a knot and pulled.

"The Battle of Utapau, one of the last major engagements of the Clone Wars. Grievous was killed by a Jedi Master, Obi-wan Ke-"

The figure whirled around with a growl, putting his face just centimeters from Sabine's.

" _Do not utter that name in my presence again."_

Sabine flinched as a white hand shot up– but no blow fell. The stained white mask rattled as the cyborg emitted a chuckle, interspersed with a choking cough. _"I did not mean to interrupt you, child. Please, continue with your tale."_

"After…after his death, some Separatist worlds fought on, but the droid armies were shut down by the Confederate leadership just a few weeks later. The Republic counterattacked and…the Clone Wars were over."

" _You expect me to believe that? Bah. After your little gunnery display, I was beginning to think you had at least some intelligence – but it seems I was mistaken."_

"I'm telling the truth! Why would I lie to you?"

" _Why indeed."_ The cyborg turned to Ezra, lifting his chin with a finger. _"A single transmission to any one of the Separatist strongholds across the galaxy would easily disprove your story."_

Mustering her best sneer, Sabine glared at her captor. "Go ahead."

" _You are a bold one."_ The cyborg turned on his heel and strode towards the cockpit. Behind her back, Sabine flexed her now unbound hands.

* * *

Grievous had already broken the only hyperwave transmitter onboard, rendering him unable to send messages at long range. There was one other option available to him – the Raxus Network.

Established in the months leading up to the Battle of Geonosis, the Raxus Network was a Holonet network that spanned most of the Outer Rim. Heavily encrypted servers allowed Separatist commanders to send and receive orders, based on their clearance. Grievous busied himself with the ship computer, searching for a way to gain access.

_The real General Grievous has been dead for twenty years…_

The dull, throbbing pain in his head had returned. He tried to ignore it, but upon glancing up at the cockpit window, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. His remaining eye was heavily bloodshot, and still bore a faint green crust. It was then that the cyborg caught sight of the orange astromech sitting behind the co-pilot's seat. It leaned back, as if it were trying to avoid his gaze.

" _You there! Give me the date!"_

The droid warbled hesitantly.

" _Impossible!"_

Before the orange astromech could reply, Grievous had crossed the cockpit in a single stride. With a furious shout, he lashed out with a clawed foot, tipping the droid over. A red mist descended over his vision, and the pain in his head briefly subsided as he seized the droid in his claws.

A fit of particularly violent coughing later, and Grievous had returned to the computer. The terminal pinged, and the blank screen was replaced with the familiar blue insignia of the Separatist Navy. A triumphant laugh escaped his vocoder as Grievous watched data begin to scroll by. Troop movements, battle reports, fleet inventories. If what the girl said was true, then the entire network would be long gone, as would any broadcasting servers.

One detail in particular caught his attention. The system had recognised his high-priority login credentials, and had directed his attention to a set of coordinates. A new meeting point for the Separatist leadership had been established, and according to the database, it was home to a sizeable fleet. Grievous continued to chuckle to himself as he read through the manifest.

The location was a cold, desolate place on the fringes of the galaxy, yet an excellent hiding place for the Separatist leadership. The fleet protecting it was well equipped, and Grievous was familiar with the formidable citadel on the surface.

 _Perfect._ The system prompted him again for his credentials, but Grievous had seen enough. _Besides, it would be better to keep my arrival a secret._ It did not speak highly of the armies under his command that they had allowed his enemies to nearly capture him.

The General turned and left the cockpit, kicking aside the mangled body of the orange astromech as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for 1k hits! See you next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'M BACK! I know it has been way too long since I last updated this story, but real life interfered in a big way and I was unable to gather enough ideas together for where this story was heading next. However, now that we have a definite timeframe for when the next season of Rebels will be out, I hope to get the next three chapter that I have drafted out before the first episode in September. Thank you all for your comments, kudos and bookmarks– let's get back into the action!**

* * *

"I don't know. I just…I just can't shake the feeling that the whole thing was a trap."

Hera sighed. The turbolift to the briefing room was by far the slowest on the ship.

"Laid by the Empire?"

Kanan didn't answer. Hera had hardly seen him outside of mealtimes over the last few days. The Jedi had remained in his quarters, doing who-knows-what, ever since he'd been cleared by medical.

"We should never have gotten involved."

"Kanan-"

"You know what I mean. The bigger the group…the less each member is worth. When it was just us, we could afford to look out for each other, but now…"

Hera turned to face the Jedi. "Enough. Talking like that isn't going to solve anything."

"It's hurting all of us, Hera. Look at you! I can't count the number of times in the last few days that I've found you locked away in the simulators."

The chime of the turbolift interrupted them, and the doors opened onto the bridge level. Commander Sato was deep in conversation with Ahsoka, but broke off when he caught sight of Kanan and Hera. Ahsoka smiled and nodded respectfully, first at Hera, then at Kanan. Hera returned the gesture – but not Kanan, who looked away as if he had not noticed.

"Knight Jarrus, Captain Syndulla." Sato activated the map table, and inserted a data stick.

"Here is all of the intelligence we've managed to gather so far. Our tracking systems picked up the _Ghost_ entering the Mustafar system approximately a day after it disappeared."

A hologram appeared, floating above the table. A glowing line was visible, running from Oorana Prime, to Mustafar, where it splintered into a number of possible directions.

"So it was the Imperials after all."

Sato shook his head. "That was what we thought at the time. The ship dropped out of hyperspace well within the Mustafar Exclusion zone – but instead of rendezvousing with the Empire or landing on the planet, it stayed in the system for only a few minutes before jumping away again."

Ahsoka slipped another slim data stick into a port on the map table. "Luckily, we had an informant on board one of the Imperial ships in the exclusion zone. They managed to record some chatter."

The speaker system crackled.

"… _hands, all hands. Alert positions. Unidentified hyperspace signature detected."_

" _Scramble fighters. Wings 2 and 9, sweep exclusion zone sectors and report."_

The recording ended. Ahsoka retrieved the data stick. "Whoever sent that ship to Mustafar was clearly not a friend of the Empire. It warped in, fought with a few TIEs, then jumped away."

Kanan frowned. "None of this can be right. If whoever stole the _Ghost_ and kidnapped Ezra and Sabine was an enemy of the Empire, then why would they head straight for one of the most heavily fortified Imperial strongholds this side of the galaxy?"

Ahsoka looked down, a thoughtful expression on her face. In the silence that followed, Hera spoke up.

"Did the Empire pick up any transmissions from the _Ghost_?"

"They did, but our informant couldn't get a copy."

Hera nodded to Kanan. "We need whatever they can get. Ezra and Sabine could have been trying to get out a coded message."

"Thank you, Commander Sato. There was one more thing I wanted to discuss with you all." As she spoke, Ahsoka reached under the map table and pulled out the severed head of a tactical droid.

* * *

Commodore Tan Seegor knew he was dying. The familiar tremors in his limbs and wings were gradually intensifying, and the Geonosian knew he did not have much time left. It had been years since he had last set foot on any planet, and what seemed a lifetime since he had once walked the sands of Geonosis. His once mighty fleet, the 143rd Rim Patrol Flight, had been reduced to a single battlecruiser and a handful of escort craft by the accumulation of twenty years of poor maintenance and constant wear.

Today, however, he was shivering not with pain, but in nervous anticipation. 24 hours ago, the long-dormant Raxus network had lit up. At first, his superiors had ridiculed the news – but now, with more concrete evidence coming through the system, Seegor had been authorised to attempt to make contact.

The battle droids flanking the doorway to the communications chamber snapped to attention as the Commodore approached. He was one of only a handful of living creatures onboard his flagship, and the only one who lived there on a permanent basis. Constructed at the height of the Clone Wars, the _Tide of Progress II_ was a rare command variant of the common Recusant-class droid battlecruiser. It was also the last ship for many quadrants that still flew with Separatist colours.

The communications deck consisted of a small amphitheatre, with a hologram projector built into the map table on the stage. As Seegor took up his position next to the table, he saw movement in the darkened seating area above. He would have an audience – although on this ship, Seegor rarely went anywhere without being watched by his superiors.

The communicator chimed softly. The lights dimmed, and the swirling Commerce Guild logo disappeared.

Commodore Seegor caught only a glimpse of the figure that emerged from the hologram before he threw himself prostrate on the floor, tossing his staff aside as he did. A confused babble of Basic and Geonosian burst from his mouth – only to be cut off by a booming voice that echoed out of the speakers.

" _Identify yourself!"_

The near life-sized projection of General Grievous loomed above the kneeling Separatist commander.

" _I do not have time to indulge in your pathetic grovelling – that time will come soon enough. Stand up!"_

With the aid of the tactical droid standing at his shoulder, the elderly Geonosian hauled himself to his feet, to find himself staring into the face of the Supreme Commander of the Separatist armies. Throwing his first salute in almost twenty years, Seegor stammered his response.

"Commodore Seegor, General. Attached to the 143rd Rim Patrol Flight."

The projection swept an invisible cape behind its back. _"You seem unusually surprised to see me, for someone who was so keen to establish contact via the Raxus Network._

"Mighty General. I apologise for my reaction…but we had given up hope of ever hearing from you again. When the Raxus Network alerted us to your presence, my superiors were incredulous. The hailing frequency you gave was not one we recognised, and I –"

Grievous cut him off. _"The lack of faith in my abilities amongst your superiors troubles me. Is your sector secure, Commodore? The loss of Mustafar makes me suspect that the commanders of the navy are so incompetent that they cannot survive without me for a few days."_ As he spoke, Grievous turned to look at something out of view, muttering something unintelligible.

"A…a few days, General?" As he spoke, the Geonosian ran his eyes across the shimmering outline of Grievous. The cyborg was clearly damaged all over – a cybernetic eye, a modified chestplate, and a number of other features he could not recall seeing – but underneath, there was no mistaking the familiar attitude of Grievous himself.

" _I have received your coordinates and adjusted my course accordingly. I will arrive within the next few hours. Prepare yourselves to receive me."_

The Geonosian swallowed. "It would truly be an honour General, but I would have to confirm with my- "

Grievous gave an angry cough. _"That is an order, Commodore! Your superiors are subordinate to me, and if they object, then they can explain themselves to me upon my arrival."_

The figure of the general waved a hand at something out of view, and the connection dissolved into static.

The lights on the bridge slowly came up. As Commodore Seegor raised his head, a figure stepped out of the shadows and approached the map table.

"You're sure it was him?"

"It…it was. I'm certain of it."

"Then see to it that he receives the warmest possible reception."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! See you next time!**


	12. Chapter 12

Exiting hyperspace was always a dicey affair, no matter the skill of the pilot or the quality of the vessel. Despite these stresses, Sabine Wren was as calm and collected as she could be – at least, as calm as it was possible to be with the hand of a cyborg wrapped around her neck.

The _Ghost_ juddered and rolled as Sabine eased the vessel out into realspace. The blue glow faded, to be replaced with an unfamiliar starscape.

_“I don’t see my ship, Mandalorian. Perhaps I should- “_

Ezra suddenly spoke up from the co-pilot’s seat “There! I see it!”

 _“Show me.”_ For a few agonising seconds, the hand of the cyborg continued to squeeze – then the steel grip around her neck relaxed.

_“Very good. Take us in.”_

Sabine resisted the urge to gasp as she powered up the sublight engines. Suspended in space before them was a lone starship, bathed in the pale blue light of the system’s distant star. The _Recusant-_ class cruiser was a similar length compared to an Imperial Star Destroyer, but far thinner and more fragile looking. The bulky life support systems found on other capital ships were absent, giving the ship a skeletal appearance. The entire vessel was painted in a uniform grey, save for a blue stripe across the nose that was adorned with the roundel of the Separatist Navy.

The scanners suddenly lit up, and an alarm sounded in the cabin.

_“What is it?”_

“They’re launching fighters to intercept us.”

Grievous leaned over and opened the comms channel. _“Stand down. General Grievous is in command of this…rustbucket. Requesting a fighter escort to guide us in.”_

Sabine cancelled the alarm as the swarm of fighters dispersed, save for two which continued their intercept course. The Vulture droids overshot the _Ghost,_ before turning and drawing up alongside in escort positions. Grievous entered a command into the navigation computer, ordering the autopilot to follow the droids. Then Sabine and Ezra were lifted from their seats and unceremoniously hurled out of the cockpit and into the alcove next to the boarding ramp.

“What do we do now? We’re going to be trapped on that ship.”

Sabine reached down and pulled Ezra to his feet. “Not if I can help it. Remember when Grievous let me get those food packs?”

“I must have still been out…remind me?”

“The galley. That was where I got them from.”

“What’s so special about the galley?”

Sabine rolled her eyes. “That’s where we keep the set of emergency transponders! Did you _ever_ pay attention during Hera’s safety briefings?”  

The ship shook as the landing legs made contact with the hull of the Separatist warship.

“They’ve been active for the last few hours. Even if our main communicators were destroyed, the transponder signal can still be heard by the others – if they’re listening out for them, that is.” Sabine clapped a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “They’ll find us. We just have to stay with the ship, and wait.”  

Ezra smiled back. Then, the boarding ramp began to descend, and an unseen hand sent them both tumbling. The two teenagers stumbled down the exit ramp, landing in a heap on the cold metal floor of the hangar. They looked up, only to see themselves surrounded by droids.

 

* * *

 

 

General Grievous strode briskly down the boarding ramp, landing gracefully on the deck of the _Tide of Progress II._ His two captives lay where they had fallen, blinking under the harsh lights. Grievous growled, and turned his back on them as they were hauled roughly to their feet by the droids. 

_“Dress their wounds, then take them to the detention block. I will deal with them later.”_

He watched as the two scavengers were marched away across the hangar. Despite occasionally amusing him, he had grown tired of their whining and complaining within the first few hours of meeting them. The General let out a particularly violent cough, then turned to look at the ship he had flown in on, ignoring the hastily formed honour guard of droids that had assembled around him.

 _A roggwart in disguise._ Despite its appearance, Grievous knew the freighter had already survived more punishment than any other scavenger’s runabout ought to. The shield, scanners, turrets and hyperdrive were all military-spec – yet it was crewed by a female Twi’lek, two children and a barely-functioning astromech. _Ridiculous._ Grievous considered it for a moment, then reached out and seized a passing battle droid.

 _“You! Organise a security team to do a full search of this ship. Download the contents of the navigation computer, and whatever you can recover of the astromech inside. Then I want it taken apart, piece by piece. Quickly!”_ The droid stumbled back, snapped off a salute, then hurried away in search of the maintenance crew. Grievous gave another contemptuous cough, then set off at a brisk pace across the hangar, the remaining security droids forming up behind him.

The cavernous hangar was easily large enough to fit the ship he had arrived upon a dozen times or more, yet the space was largely deserted. A handful of Vulture droids and Hyena bombers hung from racks on the far wall, while several more strode back and forth in walker configuration. However, apart from a single, partially disassembled _Sheathipede_ shuttle, there were no other spacecraft in the hangar. The wall closest to him was obscured by stacks of stored surface equipment, and several rows of parked MTTs and AATs. Unusual, but not unheard of – other vessels often housed the fleet’s starfighter contingent.

The door at the far end of the hangar opened, and out of it shuffled a small, hunched figure, escorted by a pair of droids.

_“Ah, Commodore.”_

The elderly Geonosian bowed as low as his wizened frame would allow. The Commodore was dressed in the standard uniform of the Separatist Navy, complete with several small medals denoting tours of duty on various fronts. “It is an honour to welcome you aboard my ship, General. I regret not meeting you immediately upon your arrival, but I was surprised at the speed with which you reached us.”

Grievous set off at a brisk walk towards the turbolifts. _“Forget the formalities, Commodore. I appreciate your willingness to assist me. It is more than can be said of the rest of the Navy.”_

The Geonosian huffed and puffed as he attempted to keep pace with the cyborg. “I…only…followed protocol, General. I cannot…speak for the actions of any other officers.”

The General stepped into the turbolift, followed by the Commodore. A tactical droid attempted to enter as well, but Grievous shoved it out before the doors closed.

_“After I meet with these superiors of yours, I expect a full strategic assessment briefing on the bridge. If you have any other vessels under your command, advise them to prepare for hyperspace travel immediately.”_

“General?”

_“I don’t intend to waste any time, Commodore. There is still a war to be won. Have any transmissions come through from the Council pertaining me?”_

“I…I wouldn’t be privy to such communications, General. Besides, I thought that the Council was- “

Grievous silenced Seegor with a cough. _“No matter.”_ The ignorance of the Commodore to high-level discussions was plausible, but the fact that he was the only officer Grievous had been able to establish contact with over the last day was suspicious. Could it be that there had been a plot to get rid of him, or let him fall into Republic hands deliberately? The possibility seemed remote…yet it had not been too long ago that Count Dooku had been killed in unlikely circumstances. 

The turbolift halted, and the doors slid open. Commodore Seegor stayed where he was as Grievous pushed past him into the room beyond. The briefing room of the _Tide of Progress II_ was a cavernous space, dominated by a long meeting table that could seat dozens of Separatist officials. Save for a pair of battle droids standing guard at the turbolift, the room was dark and empty. Empty, save for the chair at the far end of the meeting table, which appeared to be occupied by a shadowy figure.

Suddenly, the darkened room was lit up by a flash of blue light, and the air was filled with a familiar hum. The cyborg’s combat computers reacted almost instantly, hurling the General back towards the turbolift with a jump – but he was brought up short by a shimmering wall of light that sprang out of the floor and surrounded him.

 _A ray-shield._ Grievous snarled and smashed his fists against the walls of his prison – to no effect. He whirled around, and glared at the cowering form of Commodore Seegor. _“What is the meaning of this…release me at once, or suffer the consequences!”_

The Commodore babbled something in his native tongue and wrung his hands together in a plaintive gesture, but made no move to assist him. At the same time, a sinister sound, not unlike chattering teeth, echoed out from somewhere in the darkened room.

_“Show yourself, coward! You cannot keep me contained for long!”_

Grievous watched as the occupant of the chair stood, and stepped into the pool of light surrounding his prison.

_“You!”_

“General Grievous… _ch ch ch…_ where have you been hiding all these years?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who reviewed/gave kudos last time - over 100, woot! Things are just getting interesting...


	13. Chapter 13

 

" _Traitor!"_

"On the contrary, _Supreme Commander._ I fought on until the very end…unlike yourself."

General Grievous unleashed a torrent of abuse, smashing at the walls of his prison to little effect. The clicking of clawed feet, and the rap of a cane, echoed through the conference room as his captor paced up and down before his prison.

" _Consider this your one and only warning, Trench! Release me at once!"_

Admiral Trench chuckled, his insectoid mandibles producing an eerie chittering sound. Dressed in a dark grey uniform with an unfamiliar insignia and several medallions, the Harch was shorter than Grievous, yet he seemed to have little fear as he prodded the glowing walls of the ray shield with his cane.

"Faking your death – with the cooperation of a Jedi, no less - was an ingenious move, I will admit."

" _Cooperating with a Jedi?"_

"Why, with Kenobi of course. How else could you have escaped Utapau alive?"

Red flashed before the cyborg's vision as he slammed his fists against the walls, floor, and ceiling of his prison. _How dare he! To even suggest cooperation with Kenobi…_

"Ah yes, _ch ch ch ch…_ just as composed and in control as always. It truly is you." Trench chuckled. "Where have you been hiding these last fifteen years?"

" _That lie again! I was in stasis for the briefest of periods…during which time it seems a plot has hatched to depose me as Supreme Commander. First it was the destruction of my transport in the Oorana System, then Mustafar was attacked…and now I am being held prisoner by my own droids! Your words cannot protect you, Trench. Once I am free of this prison, I will crush you like the insect you are!"_

"Fascinating. Your ignorance appears to be genuine." The Harch tweaked at his mandibles. "What do you believe is the motivation behind these attempts on your life, hmm?"

" _The Republic has bought you out, mercenary. Unsurprising for a creature as disloyal as you!"_

"Although I sense you are attempting to insult me, General, you are partly correct. The Empire – or the Republic, whichever you prefer – offered me a deal I simply could not refuse, _ch ch ch._ " Trench gestured to the uniform he wore. "Unlike the Separatists, the Republic recognised my talents as a negotiator and a leader, not just as a warrior. And unlike Count Dooku and yourself, the Republic treated me with the respect I deserved. When the war ended some fifteen years ago-"

" _Liar!"_

"…believe what you will, _Supreme Commander_. I was asked to negotiate on behalf of the Separatist leadership, who had tragically been killed when their mining platform on Mustafar was destroyed by volcanic activity." Trench stepped closer, his face twisted into the Harch version of a disdainful sneer. "I am no fool, Grievous. One cannot ride out these turbulent times without being prepared to reach compromises. I am not fatally wedded to any ideology, so much as I am sensitive to my own interests. I joined the Separatist cause partly because of my corporate ties, but also because it was the best choice for keeping the Harch home system, Ando, under my control."

Trench plucked at the medals on his uniform. "My full title, should it interest you, is Imperial Governor of the Ando System. A rank far greater and more meaningful than any I could achieve in your droid army. In return for this posting the Empire requires that I use my expertise to run this operation here. As you can imagine, the Outer Rim is filled with places to hide, and with my assistance, Separatist elements are rooted out."

" _How…you would have been denounced by the government, expelled from your command…it would have never succeeded!"_

"Perhaps. But few have heard of Commodore Tan Seegor, commander of the 143rd Rim Patrol Flight."

" _Seegor?"_ Grievous glared through the ray-shield towards the corner of the conference room, where the Geonosian officer stood, his head submissively bowed. _"Coward…"_

"He – and this ship - were the first to respond to my requests for aid. I convinced the Empire to commute his death sentence to life imprisonment, so that I could employ him. He runs the operation day-to-day, while I attend to more important matters elsewhere."

Grievous said nothing. His mind was in turmoil as he tried to process everything Trench had said. Part of him felt as though Trench was speaking the truth - but another would not, _could not_ accept that the war was over.

_Fifteen years…Empire…Mustafar…_

"What were you thinking, Grievous? Did you honestly believe that the Empire would not know about the Raxus Network? It was sliced countless times by their intelligence services, and exists today solely for the purpose of tracking down rogue Separatists."

A low growl bubbled behind his vocoder as he felt the pain building in his head again.

_Impossible…_ _**impossible!** _

"Are you hearing me, General?"

" _I have nothing to say to you, traitorous scum. This war will be won through my leadership, and not through bribery and deceit."_

Trench huffed. "So be it, General."

* * *

Leaving the conference room, Admiral Trench took the turbolift down to the command centre, with Commodore Seegor in tow. His datapad had updated with a full readout on the physical status of his captive. Trench looked Grievous over. The fragile gutsack had been removed, and the once-open panelling on his chest had been fused together to create a solid torso section. His white limbs were now stained and dirty, and many other sections bore scorch marks, as if they had been burned from the inside out. Most notably, one eyesocket had been patched over with a flat cybernetic eyepiece, leaving only a single bloodshot eye as evidence that there was still a living creature imprisoned behind the cracked and stained mask. In contrast, the Harch was in good health. It had been sixteen years since he had been mortally wounded during the blockade of Christophsis, and almost half of his body still sported some form of cybernetic device, yet at over two hundred years of age Admiral Trench was still in his prime.

The doors opened, and Trench stepped into the command centre, leaving Seegor standing in the lift. As he did, the Geonosian made a buzzing noise in his throat.

"What is it, Seegor?"

The Geonosian looked around, as if they were in danger of being overheard, then he leaned in close. "The General! It is Grievous, isn't it?"

"It would appear so, although his mental capacities have degraded significantly since I last laid eyes on him. What about him?"

"Should I give the order to release him, Admiral?"

Trench laughed, and slapped the frail Commodore on the back. "Certainly not, Seegor. The Supreme Commander will be staying exactly where he is, for now."

The elderly Geonosian fluttered his wings in agitation. " _Thyktn fyluut_ …I thought that was our plan. Once we knew it was him, that he was still alive out there…I thought this would be a new beginning for…"

Trench motioned with his cane. "Go on…"

"…for the cause, Admiral. Our cause."

"Enough of this nonsense, Commodore! Perhaps you are not quite as deluded as our dear General appears to be, but the Separatist cause has been lost for over a decade, and it would take more than an asthmatic cyborg to resurrect it!" Trench jabbed Seegor in the chest with the tip of his cane. "You and Grievous are the only two fools left in the galaxy who still hold on to that fantasy. Be grateful that you have been spared the fate of the rest of your kind."

"A-admiral?"

"Perhaps you should watch the news more often, Seegor. We have excellent Holonet coverage here – all you have to do is ask."

The doors slammed shut and the turbolift started down, leaving the Admiral alone with a handful of his command droids. Banishing the Commodore from his mind, Trench took charge of the situation. With Grievous secured, the next phase of the operation could begin.

" _Ch ch ch ch…_ Commander, establish a connection with the nearest ISB listening post. Inform them that we have taken custody of a…Class A fugitive. Do not provide them with any further details, but ensure that they send a secure transport with heavy protection."

" _Yes Admiral."_

The Harch idly twirled his cane. The Empire was unlikely to know that he had taken possession of a prize as great as General Grievous himself, and once they were aboard his vessel and shown the prisoner they would have little choice but to agree to whatever price he demanded.

The tactical droid turned back from the console. _"Admiral, we have an incoming transmission on the unsecured band. Identity unknown."_

"Put it through."The overhead speakers crackled, then the holocomm system lit up.

" _I understand you have taken possession of a ship."_

Trench whirled around, an agitated chatter rising in his throat.

"Who is this?"

" _My name is not important. I'm not interested in any cargo, passengers or the ship itself. I want the crew."_

"Any information about this vessel, or any other vessel under my command, is classified. Now, identify yourself!"

The indistinct voice laughed, a shrill sound that filled the speakers with static. _"I don't care about who owns what, or whether something is classified. You have the crew, or at least some of them. Dead or alive, I don't mind, but I know for a fact that you would be willing to sell them."_

"Can you describe this crew of yours?" As he spoke, Trench gestured to the droids around him, who busied themselves at their consoles as they attempted to trace the location of the call.

" _One adult male human, one near-adult female human, one juvenile male human, one adult female Twi'lek and another unknown."_

Trench manipulated the screens on the control console next to him, calling up images of the vessel Grievous had arrived on. Footage recorded an hour earlier showed the ship landing, Grievous disembarking – and two small figures being led away. The tactical droid standing nearby spoke up. _"Two juvenile humans were brought aboard in the Supreme Commander's custody. Current location: B-level detention."_

"I have two such individuals in my custody. How much would you be willing to offer me for them?"

" _Fifty thousand, to be transferred into your account upon collection."_

"A hundred and fifty for both."

" _Done."_ Trench's eyes widened in surprise. _"Prepare them for transportation. I will arrive to collect them within the next twenty-four hours."_ Then the line went dead.

_Curious._ Trench called up an image of the captured humans in the holding cell, and then an image of the ship. Neither appeared worth tens of thousands of credits – so why would someone go to so much trouble to locate them? The Harch fidgeted as he considered the unusual development. The fact that someone had the capability to track the ship currently docked in the hangar bay was troubling…but the opportunity to increase the profitability of what was already a highly successful mission was equally intriguing.

"Commander, contact the ISB. Find out if there is a bounty on the two scavengers in the detention block." Trench flipped back to a live feed of the hangar. "And get that dammed maintenance crew away from that rustbucket and back to repairing my shuttle!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more IRL commitments I have, the more my output increases! This was a pretty important chapter as well, so I had some written in advance. Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing - I know a few of you guessed it was Trench from the start, but I hope this next twist surprised you, and thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

  
_The war…over…LIES!_

General Grievous, crouched on one knee in his glowing prison, screwed his organic eye shut as his mind went to war with itself.

_Dead…fifteen years…A REPUBLIC TRICK…_

It was then that Grievous heard it. Clear as a bell, momentarily silencing the roaring voices behind his mask.

_**Grievous…** _

" _Show yourself! Don't try to play games with me, Trench!"_ Even as the words left his vocoder, Grievous felt a new wave of pain flow through his mind, as if the word had become physically lodged inside him. A series of meaningless images flashed before his eyes as he fought to keep himself from crying out in pain.

"Supreme Commander! General…we don't have much time!"

Slowly, Grievous raised his head as the voices faded away. Through the glowing blue walls of his cage, he perceived a small figure hurrying towards him.

"A thousand apologies, Supreme Commander. Trench…he deceived me."

Grievous let out a growl, scraping at the floor of his cage with his clawed feet. _"Your excuses change nothing, Seegor."_

"He…he is lying, mighty General. The war continues. And with your help…maybe it can be won. But first, we must try to get you out of that ray shield."

" _Why should I believe you, slime? You intend to fool me again!"_ Grievous drew back a fist, and Seegor cringed back as it impacted against the ray shield with a dull thud.

"I cannot release you. Trench is not foolish enough to have given me the override codes for any security shields on the ship. Only him and his tactical droids can deactivate them."

Seegor reached into his uniform, and withdrew a pair of bulky silver goggles.

"There was once a dozen or-so Nemodians working on this ship, before they were replaced by tactical droids. I happened across a pair of these in my own quarters some time ago…perhaps they could be useful."

" _How?"_

"You are the Supreme Commander. I believe my brethren installed some communications hardware in your body. If you could somehow interface with these goggles, and then take control of a tactical droid…"

Seegor trailed off. Grievous glared at him, his mind grappling with the new information.

" _Then what?"_

The elderly Geonosian smiled. "Then you will truly be the Supreme Commander again."

* * *

"Ezra…there's someone coming!"

"I know…just a little closer…"

Sitting cross-legged in a cramped cell, Ezra Bridger was fully immersed in the Force, blocking out his other senses. On a bench on the far side of the corridor outside the cells, the droids had dumped Ezra and Sabine's personal equipment in a pile. As Sabine looked on, Ezra reached out through the Force, hunting for the familiar shape of his lightsaber.

Then the door to the brig opened, and two figures came running in. As they did, the ray shields suddenly deactivated, and Ezra called his lightsaber to him. He only had time to close his fist around the grip before something bowled him over with a vicious blow to the chest, knocking him to the floor of the cell. Wincing from the pain, Ezra looked up as a uniformed alien stepped into the corridor outside his cell, flanked by two tactical droids.

"Governor Trench, at your service. Formally Admiral Trench of the Separatist Navy, and now the Imperial Governor of the Ando System. Impressive, Jedi. You are certainly the fastest opponent my Magnaguards have had to deal with for many years. It was a good thing that I took the liberty of reading your file, Ezra Bridger. Otherwise…you may have hurt yourself. Attach the restraints."

One of the two droids that were holding him down produced a set of bulky handcuffs, while the other returned his lightsaber to the pile. Ezra gritted his teeth, and tried to summon up a blast of energy, but the bindings suddenly tightened in response, and he sank to his knees with a cry of pain. Trench tutted as the Magnaguards dragged the Padawan to his feet.

"Stun cuffs. They tighten in response to escape attempts. Particularly useful on uncooperative subjects such as Jedi. I should know…I've seen a few in my time."

Sabine spoke up from her cell. "What do you want from us?"

"Only your cooperation, Sabine Wren. Yes, I have heard of both of you before. It seems as though you have a _dislike_ of authority figures, correct?" Trench twirled his cane. "As an agent of the Empire, my role is simply to oversee your transfer to the appropriate body for punishment. That is…"

As he spoke, Trench stepped over to the pile of confiscated gear, and picked up Ezra's lightsaber. A chittering chuckle escaped his mouth as Ezra momentarily reached out with the Force, only to be brought up short by the stun cuffs.

"I know for a fact that there are several parties interested in my offer. An Imperial delegation will be arriving shortly to arrange compensation for the capture of Grievous, and I would be willing to hand you over as well. That is, unless the others make me a better offer."

"You're lying! The only people who know where we are would never make any kind of deal with you! They're probably on their way to this system now, with a whole fleet, and I doubt this old ship could last more than a minute against them!"

Trench chuckled. "On the contrary, _boy._ I received a sizeable offer for your capture almost as soon as you arrived. It seems as though that ship of yours was tracked here." The Harch narrowed his eyes, and rapped his cane on the deck. "And as for your fleet, this warship is more than capable of scattering a handful of fighters, and I have the ability to call on considerable Imperial reinforcements stationed in neighbouring systems. You forget, I hold the equivalent rank of Admiral in the Imperial Navy. Now, before I arrange for your transfer, I wish to know more about your dealings with Grievous. Where did you find him?"

Sabine frowned at Ezra and shook her head. In response, one of the Magnaguards struck the deck with the end of its staff, activating the electric prongs.

"We were investigating a wrecked Separatist cruiser…near the Utapau system. Grievous was aboard, in some kind of preservation device. Some stormtroopers attacked, Grievous got out…then he hijacked our ship."

"Did you visit Mustafar, by any chance? I recall hearing that it was recently attacked by rebel craft, and that one of those vessels revisited the area only a day or so ago."

Ezra nodded.

"Then he truly is mad! _Ch-ch-ch,_ it is a delight to see him so utterly confused and helpless." Trench's face gave the Harch equivalent of a satisfied smile. "I hope you children don't think of me as a…petty individual. You would feel the same, serving under that incompetent creature for so many years." As he spoke, one of the tactical droids that had entered the brig with Trench gave a brisk salute and hurried out in the direction of the turbolifts.

The Harch stepped back, and the other tactical droid reactivated the ray shields.

" _Ch-ch-ch…_ Thank you for your cooperation, children. As soon as I obtain some more accurate data on your value to the Empire, I will send you on your way."

The tactical droid held a hand to the side of its head. _"Admiral. We are being hailed by an Imperial vessel. They are requesting permission to board and view the captives."_

"Perfect timing. Prepare a guard of honour to receive them in the hangar. And ready these two for transferral!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're getting close to some big showdowns and interactions with other important characters, so stay tuned!


	15. Chapter 15

“A pirate leader, perhaps? They have been causing a great deal of trouble in the Outer Rim lately.”

“It could hardly be more Separatists…you assured the ISB that nearly all of the most senior figures had been captured or killed.”

“Well gentlemen, _ch ch ch._ If you would follow me…Commander? What are you- “

“Look out!”

“No!”

For a few seconds, all sound was drowned out by a sudden wave of blaster fire. Then, the door to the rear of the bridge opened, and General Grievous stepped onto the bridge of the _Recusant-_ class cruiser. In the centre of the room stood a bewildered Admiral Trench, surrounded by a dozen or more human corpses. A contingent of battle droids had formed a ring around the scene, hot gas still rising from their blasters.

“Grievous!”

_“I am sorry that your delegates did not live long enough to see your prize, Admiral. I am confident that you would have been able to fetch a substantial reward from the Republic.”_

Trench turned as another figure stepped onto the bridge. “Seegor! The droids…”

_“…now answer to me, correct. As does your former second-in-command.”_

The Geonosian leaned on his cane, puffing himself up as he stared Trench down. “I…I tried to warn you Admiral. I gave you a chance…but orders are orders, like you said. You have always known where my true loyalties lie.”

There was still fighting going on elsewhere aboard the ship. Through his neural implants, Grievous saw through the eyes of battle droids fighting Republic troops who had been guarding a shuttle in one of the lower hangar bays. A few quick mental commands later, and a group of Vulture droids dropped from their wall racks and blew the defenders away with cannon fire.

 _“There will be no more help from the rest of your Republic allies, Trench.”_ Grievous advanced suddenly, a pair of silver cuffs in his hand. With one swift movement, the General hauled Trench off his feet and tossed him against a control console, attaching him to it by the wrist. 

Trench did not seem fazed as he pulled himself upright on his cane. “Well, _Supreme Commander,_ it seems you have regained control of your old army. May I ask how you achieved such a feat?”

_“You should have kept a closer eye on your second-in-command, Admiral. He knows more about this ship and the droids aboard it than you do.”_

Trench laughed. “Indeed, he does. I assume that he also told you that this ship is no longer under the control of the Separatist Alliance. This cruiser is filled with Imperial snooping devices. The ISB will be able to track you wherever you go. Even now, more ships will be coming to investigate. You cannot hide from the Empire, Grievous.”

_“We shall see. Seegor! Get down to the hangar and prepare the shuttle for immediate takeoff. Make sure that it is loaded with as many valuable droids as possible.”_

“Yes, General.”

_“Good. I will join you in a moment…once I have finished here.”_

Commodore Seegor gave an enthusiastic salute and hurried out of the room, with the droids following closely after him. As soon as the door to the bridge had closed behind them, Grievous strode over to one of the control consoles, and began to interact with the onboard computers.

“Seegor is a fool, _ch ch ch._ You will not survive long in this galaxy if you listen solely to his advice. Why, I sometimes believe that he _wants_ the Clone Wars to continue. As if it gives him a sense of purpose, a reason to exist.” Trench laughed mockingly, jabbing his staff at Grievous. “Like you. Like this ship, and the Raxus Network. Nothing but vestiges of history.”

Grievous looked up from the console with an angry cough. _“An eloquent speech, Admiral, considering that you – along with this ship – are about to become a permanent part of history!”_

As he spoke, Grievous brought an armoured fist down on a button. Somewhere deep within the ship, an alarm began to wail, and red lights flashed on holoscreens all over the bridge.

_“Warning. Self-destruct sequence initialised. Prepare to evacuate.”_

Grievous laughed as Trench rattled the handcuffs. _“How does it feel? The great Admiral Trench, now a prisoner aboard his own ship?”_

“I will not be outwitted by some _droid_! Guards!”

A pair of IG-100 Magnaguards, both armed with electrostaffs, were standing at the entrance of the bridge. Grievous fired off a mental command with his neural implants, but neither droid responded as they quickly advanced through the room towards him.

“It seems as though your authority still has limits, General. Guards! Destroy him!”

The first droid span its staff in challenge, then attacked with a sudden lunge. With similar speed, Grievous sprang aside, only to be struck from behind by the second droid. For a few moments, Grievous was pushed back, purple bolts of electricity sparking against his armour, but as he did he was readying himself for a counterstrike. Then, as he dodged a stabbing attack that missed his mask by centimetres, Grievous lunged for the nearest electrostaff. One hand closed like a vice around the metal fingers of the IG-100, crushing them flat and allowing him to wrench the staff free. Leaping up, the cyborg lashed out, swatting the head from the shoulders of the weaponless droid. A few quick strikes later, and both droids were turned into scrap with a series of vicious blows that were strong enough to shatter the prongs on the electrostaff. With a warrior’s flourish, Grievous allowed the droids to slump to the ground.

_“Bah! Fool, there is no limit to the number of your droids that I could destroy…”_

Trench was gone. The shackle still hung from the railing, and the Harch’s cane lay discarded on the floor amongst the bodies. Grievous scooped it up and snapped it in one hand, the crack of wood mingling with the angry growl that rose in his vocoder. _Coward._ Picking up the intact electrostaff, Grievous turned and stalked towards the turbolifts. There was no time left to pursue Trench, who had no doubt already made it to the escape pod deck. As he did, his internal comm system received a transmission.

_“General! General…I’m sorry, sir. The shuttle was attacked in the hangar and I was forced to take off…”_

The next few seconds of Seegor’s transmission were drowned out by the sound of Grievous striking the nearest bulkhead in frustration. _Confound that insect!_

_“…I will continue to the rendezvous point, as agreed. Hopefully that ship you came in on still has enough fuel to make it.”_

The doors of the lift opened, and Grievous stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the hangar bay. To his surprise, he saw that even more Republic soldiers had appeared, and were attempting to fight their way through the droids to the last remaining ship in the hangar – the scavenger’s freighter that Grievous had arrived on. Some of the troopers were fighting some unseen enemy near the freighter’s access ramp, but the ones nearest to the turbolift spotted Grievous and opened fire. The first Republic trooper – _sloppy, for a clone –_ stood his ground, spraying blaster fire at Grievous as he advanced. The bolts skipped harmlessly off the cyborg’s armour plates, and in an instant Grievous was on top of him, shattering his helmet with a vicious blow from the electrostaff. A second trooper began to fire, but Grievous quickly picked up the first trooper’s blaster and brought him down with a well-placed shot to the torso.

_“Warning. Warning. Self-destruct in sixty seconds.”_

Cursing his new second-in-command, Grievous scuttled on all fours up the ramp of the scavenger’s ship, passing the bodies of several more Republic troopers who had been killed in the fighting. Tossing his new weapons into the mess area, he bounded into the cockpit and sat down, closing the ramp and activating the engines.

_“Self-destruct in thirty seconds.”_

_Curse those maintenance droids!_ Despite his orders upon landing, the droids assigned to pull the scavenging ship apart had only managed to drain the hypermatter reserve before being called away. If forced into hyperspace, he would not be able to get far.

_“Self-destruct in twenty seconds.”_

The ship’s engines roared into life, and Grievous pulled up sharply on the control column, violently lifting the nose. Ignoring the sounds of loose equipment clattering off the exterior of the hull, the General hauled the ship around and out of the hangar deflector shield. The engines would scorch the hull at this range, that was for sure, but Grievous knew it was about to get a little more than just scorched.

_“Self-destruct in ten…nine…eight…”_

As the ship accelerated away, Grievous felt a prick of doubt at the back of his mind, as if he was forgetting something important. Growling, he brushed it aside, and increased power to the deflector shields in anticipation of the explosion. The scanner system pinged, warning him of two vessels in the immediate area; the first was Seegor’s shuttle, preparing to make the jump into hyperspace, while the other was approaching at considerable speed from somewhere behind the cruiser. _Republic reinforcements?_

_“Three…two…”_

Grievous settled a clawed hand over the hyperdrive controls. He had no choice but to jump now, and hope that the navicomputer could follow Seegor’s shuttle.

_“One.”_

As a brilliant white light flashed against the cockpit of the scavenger’s ship, Grievous jumped into hyperspace, and into the unknown once again.


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

 

" _Jump status: incomplete. Insufficent hypermatter."_

" _Bah! You will burn for this, Trench!"_

Grievous broke out in a sudden fit of coughing. The hypermatter reserves were now barely a quarter full, hardly enough for interstellar travel and certainly not enough to reach the rendezvous point set by Commodore Seegor, a desert planet somewhere in the unfamiliar Agamar system. Grievous scrolled down the list of reachable worlds in the menu of the navigation computer, but none were inhabited or likely to be friendly towards him. The General prepared to pick one at random in the hope he may chance upon an alternate route to his allies…but _something_ compelled him to look again.

Grievous paused. There _was_ a familiar planet along the planned route. Manipulating the holoscreen with one hand, the General leant in as the map focused on a small solar system a handful of parsecs from his current location.

 _Yes…now is the time. I must make my presence known to Lord Sidious. He will know what to do next._ Grievous entered the course alterations, then settled back into his seat as the computer swung the ship around and prepared to make the final hyperspace jump.

" _Course alteration accepted. New destination: Vassek System, third moon."_

* * *

The ship punched through the bottom of the clouds, emerging into the gathering gloom of dusk. Spread out below was a patchwork of rocky outcroppings, sticking up at irregular intervals through a layer of mist. The tracking beacon pulsed faster as a distant mountain range began to appear over the horizon, but Grievous shut it off. _I have flown this route enough times to know where to go from here!_

Grievous had not returned to his mountainside fortress since two Jedi had laid an ambush for him there at the beginning of the war. Although one had been killed and the other Jedi driven away, the Republic had returned to the system and struck the base from orbit. Reports earlier in the war suggested that the interior of the base remained intact, but the heavily reinforced outer doors and landing platforms had been destroyed. Several missions by droids had succeeded in evacuating replacement body parts and other artefacts, but they had gone no deeper into the base where the communication centre was located.

Eying the radar, Grievous angled the ship towards a large pillar of rock that jutted out from the mountain range. The setting sun glinted off metal far below, and as he drew closer Grievous could see a pile of rubble and mangled durasteel that marked where the entrance to his fortress had once stood. The ship descended, meeting the ground with a dull thud. Grievous shut off the navigation systems and disabled the engines, before leaving his seat and stepping out of the cockpit.

As he moved into the central mess area, Grievous noticed something slumped against the wall in the passageway leading to the cargo hold. Approaching cautiously, he saw that it was the body of a Republic clone trooper, although when he pulled off his helmet he saw that it was certainly not the usual type of Fett clone.

Grievous narrowed his good eye. The trooper's armour seemed unmarked, save for an obvious blaster mark on the back of his chestplate that had clearly been fatal. His own blaster, however, had been what caught the General's attention. Reaching down, Grievous picked up the weapon off the deck, and held it up to the light. The blaster appeared to have been cut by something, leaving a smooth section where the barrel would have been attached. Grievous ran a claw around the edge of the cut, feeling where the plasteel had blistered and cracked.

_Only one weapon in the galaxy leaves a mark like that…_

In that moment, Grievous became aware of just how quiet the interior of the ship had become. His artificially enhanced sensors registered nothing other than the faint hum of the engines powering down and the sound of gas hissing from the landing legs. Moving on all fours, Grievous scuttled across the floor of the mess room to the table where he had dropped the blaster and the electrostaff he had recovered from the cruiser. Holding the electrostaff in one hand, Grievous settled back into a crouch and closed his eyes. In response, his other senses became greatly magnified.

He did not have long to wait. The first sound that reached his sensors over the background hum of the ship was a faint metallic clatter that seemed to come from directly overhead. Grievous remained motionless in the gloom, tensed and ready for action.

Then, with a sudden burst of movement, a metal ceiling panel was pulled back, and a spherical object dropped to the floor at his feet. Grievous propelled himself away with a powerful kick, rolling backwards down the ramp of the ship and onto the stony ground outside. Seconds later, the distinctive crackle of an EMP filled the interior of the ship. Grievous twirled the electrostaff and took a defensive position at the base of the ramp, ready for whatever attack was coming next.

" _I guessed that I had stowaways the moment I took off, children! Stop hiding like cowards, and face your deaths with honour!"_

As if in answer, a hatch on the roof of the ship crashed open, and an armoured figure wearing a jetpack roared up into the sky. Grievous snarled and whipped up his blaster, but by the time he had taken aim the Mandalorian girl had disappeared into the mist.

Grievous threw his arms wide, and roared a challenge into the gathering gloom. _"You cannot escape! Face me!"_

There was a hissing sound, and a slender metal cable came rocketing out of the mist. A hooked head wrapped itself around the shaft of the electrostaff. The flames from the jetpack flashed red, and Grievous found himself being jerked forward as he fought to maintain his grip on the weapon.

" _Truly, you must be a Mandalorian."_ Grievous gave the staff a savage tug, and the girl nosedived into the ground, throwing up a shower of sparks as her armour ground against the rocks. _"Only they would attempt something so foolish!"_

Grievous yanked on the cord again, but his opponent allowed it to be wrenched free of her gauntlet. She clambered to her feet and raised her blasters, unleashing a volley of red bolts that spattered noisily off the cyborg's armour plates. With one arm shielding his organic eye, Grievous hunkered down and advanced through the oncoming fire. His own blaster fire hammered into the girl, bolts pounding against her helmet and chestplate. Rather than penetrating the armour, the Mandalorian was knocked off balance by the impacts, stumbling backwards at first, before a glancing blow on her helmet knocked her onto the ground.

" _Ha! Your armour does nothing but delay your demise, little one! Prepare to receive a warrior's death!"_

It was then that he heard it. An instantly recognizable sound that not even the howling of the wind, or the sudden volley of blaster fire that hammered against his torso could drown out. For General Grievous, there was no mistaking the distinctive buzz of a lightsaber. Ignoring the girl as she continued to fire at him, Grievous turned slowly back towards the ship. At the bottom of the ramp stood the girl's male companion. His leg was wrapped in a bandage, and his clothes were stained with dried blood – yet the fearful expression Grievous had grown used to seeing had gone. In its place, his face was a mask of steely determination.

"Ezra! What are you doing?!"

"Get away from her, _droid_!"

The boy made a signal towards his companion, waving his arms as she ignited her jetpack and rose into the air. The General ignored them. His cybernetic eye saw everything as his opponents circled around him – but his living eye saw nothing else save the shimmering blue blade emerging from the darkness before him. Igniting the prongs of the electrostaff with a flourish, Grievous charged forward, a roar bubbling up from deep within his ruined form.

" _JEDI!"_

* * *

 


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

 

There was no time to breathe, no time to think. Ezra Bridger ignited his lightsasber, yelled a defiant challenge, then hung on for dear life as General Grievous thundered towards him. In an instant, his blade was nearly knocked from his hands by a blow from the electrostaff, and his own instincts sent him sprawling on his back as a second attack hissed through the air towards him. Rolling backwards, Ezra had little time to recover before he was again being forced back. The cyborg's attacks were a wild frenzy of kicks and strikes that came from all directions, and the young Jedi soon gave up trying to parry each blow, giving himself over to his training and the Force to guide his actions. Here and there, he would deflect a strike from the staff, only to be forced to leap aside as a clawed hand scythed through the space his head had occupied only moments ago. Over the crackle of the electrostaff and the hum of his lightsaber, the air was filled with a terrible howling sound that boomed out from somewhere deep inside his opponent. Wreathed in mist, the mask of Grievous hovered just out of reach, a terrifying, ghostly apparition that screamed in rage as it rained down blows upon him.

" _DIE! DIE, JEDI SCUM!"_

Dimly, Ezra was aware of Sabine's answering cry, and the scene was lit by a burst of red light as blaster fire sparkled against the General's armour. The mask did not flinch, but Grievous pivoted in place, his blaster snapping up and returning fire. Sensing an opening, the point of Ezra's blade angled forward, and he extended his arm into a lunge that was on target to strike his opponent's neck. With a wordless cry, he leapt forward – only to be brought up short as a _third_ arm lashed out, seizing him by the wrist and wrenching the lightsaber from his grip. The mask was only inches from his face. Ezra saw _something_ flash across the one organic eye as the pupil contracted in pleasure, or pain.

" _DIE!"_

He never saw the final blow. Ezra Bridger hit the ground hard, rolled twice – and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

* * *

"Ezra? Ezra, no!"

With a cry of anguish, the Mandalorian ignited her jetpack and roared away, plummeting into the mist that shrouded the landing platform in search of her companion.

There was a protracted silence. Slowly, as if shaking himself from a dream, General Grievous stretched himself up to his full height. The fight had only lasted a few seconds, but to Grievous it had awoken a dormant strength within him, a warrior's fury. For the first time in days, he felt _alive_ , free of the fog that had clouded his mind. He brought the lightsaber that was still clutched in his hand level with his face and stared at it. Then, with an explosive movement, he threw his head back and unleashed a gargling roar that seemed to briefly cause the mist to recoil around him.

" _You will never defeat Grievous! NEVER!"_

The crude, homemade stunner he had tossed aside earlier was a lightsaber in disguise. Grievous flicked a switch on the handle and the blade crisply extended. Slender, even, and a beautiful pale blue. A few experimental swings yielded a pleasing humming sound. _The first new lightsaber in my collection._ The humming intensified as Grievous spun the blade around his head, admiring the way it left glowing marks on the exposed rock at his feet.

For a moment, Grievous thought he could hear something – the whine of engines, or perhaps the rumble of a repulsorlift – over the howling wind, but whatever it was faded away quickly. The entrance to his lair loomed large in the distance, and Grievous emitted an impatient snort. He would wait no longer. The war had to continue, and Lord Sidious needed to know he was still alive. Turning his back on the ship, Grievous set off along the misty clifftop, his new lightsaber clipped to his waist. Finally, it seemed, he was back in familiar territory.

* * *

"Ezra? Ezra, where are you?"

The cliffside stood out in green as Sabine activated her helmet scanners, peeling back the thick fog. Ezra was lying face down on a rocky outcrop, one arm dangling into the void. He didn't move, and when Sabine alighted next to him he stayed completely still.

"Ezra, Ezra. Come on, kid. Wake up." Sabine rolled him over and examined him for obvious injuries, but found none. A shadow loomed before her in the mist. There was a roaring sound, and suddenly she found herself being buffeted by the backwash from a powerful engine. Then the bulk of a ship appeared from behind the clouds, spotlights bathing the area in brilliant white light. A ramp extended, and Sabine heard the sound of metal on metal as a figure strode down onto the surface. Shielding her eyes from the glare of the spotlights, Sabine rose to her feet, one hand on her blaster.

" _Well well, what have we here."_

The lights dimmed, and the figure stepped forward. Dressed from head to toe in a colourful flight suit, complete with a bulky helmet, utility belt and segmented armour. A long polearm, or perhaps a bayoneted rifle, was strapped to their back, and a pair of blaster pistols dangled at their side.

"Who are you? Are you with the rebellion?"

" _Of course not, Sabine."_ The figure chuckled, a shrill modulated sound that was recognisably female. _"To be honest, I'm more than a little surprised you got caught up with that crowd."_

Sabine's breath caught in her throat. She _knew_ that voice, and there was certainly something familiar about the ship. Then the woman undid the straps on her helmet, and her suspicions were confirmed. Olive skin, tattooed eyebrows, closely shaved head – and a familiar chuckle.

" _Ketsu?_ Ketsu Onyo!"

"Took you long enough. Who _else_ would have been able to keep up with you this long?" Ketsu smiled as she bent over Ezra. "I must say, you've certainly made me work hard. Splitting off from the rest of your fleet was an interesting move, and one that made you difficult to track down, at least for a while."

Still in shock, Sabine pulled off her helmet. "What…what are you doing here, in the Outer Rim? When we split up, I thought-"

"…That I'd stick to bounty hunting work in the Core systems? It was regular work, but everyone knows the real credits are made out here. Black Sun keeps me on as a bodyguard, but I still accept contracts on the side. Like this one."

It had been years since Sabine had last seen her former partner in crime, but she still remembered the day they parted ways. They had studied together as cadets in the Imperial Academy on Mandalore, before both discovered that bounty hunting work could be far more rewarding – and with less stringent uniform requirements. The partnership had been lucrative, but short lived. Sabine had eventually become disillusioned with the underhand nature of their line of work, and left Ketsu to search for a new life elsewhere.

The implication of Ketsu's last words suddenly dawned on her. Sabine's hands flew to her blaster pistols, but she was already too late. In one move, Ketsu looped one arm under Ezra's unconscious form and hoisted him up over her shoulder, keeping a blaster of her own trained squarely on Sabine.

"Ketsu! What are you doing?"

"Don't try it, Sabine. This doesn't have to involve you. The bounty on the boy's head is enough for me. If you play nice, I won't tell the Empire about you when I hand him over to them."

"Play _nice?_ " Sabine raised her blaster, but Ketsu had shifted her aim, with her own weapon now pushed against Ezra's cheek.

"Don't make me stun you, Sabine."

"Ha! You're wanted too, and I bet the bounty on your head is just as large. As soon as the Empire sees you coming, they'll snatch you up!"

There was a sudden loud sound, audible over the hum of the ship's engines and the moaning of the wind. Instinctively, both Ketsu and Sabine looked up as a pale light shone down through the mist from somewhere high above. Clearly fearing an attack, Ketsu shifted Ezra back onto her shoulders and hauled him onto the ramp.

"Until next time, Sabine." The blaster was pointing back at her again. "No hard feelings."

Sabine was quick – but the stun blast was quicker.

* * *

 


	18. Chapter 18

" _This is Ghost. We have her. Proceeding back to the rendezvous point."_

Kanan closed his eyes and gave a sigh of relief. Lifting his communicator, he answered. "Good to hear. Tell her that Ahsoka and I are glad to have her back."

" _Any sign of Ezra?"_

"Nothing yet, but we're still looking. Out."

There were footsteps on the rock behind him. Turning around, Kanan saw Ahsoka emerging from the mist.

"Sounds like the others have found Sabine. Hera's got the _Ghost_ working, and they're all holding in orbit now."

Ahsoka smiled. "The sooner we find Ezra, the sooner we can get them both back where they belong." She held out her hand. "In the meantime, I found something you might like to look at, from where we found the _Ghost._ See what you can make of it."

Kanan opened his hand, and Ahsoka poured a handful of metallic dust into it. Under the faint glow of the planet's mist-shrouded sun, the dust shimmered with a pink glow. Unclipping his lightsaber from his belt, Kanan ignited the blade and held it out. At the same time, he took a pinch of the fragments and dropped them over the blade. As they contacted the hot plasma, they hissed and flashed, and the blade itself flickered.

"Looks like phrik to me."

"How can you tell?"

Kanan waved his lighsaber about, sparks flashing as the last of the fragments met the blade. "No other metal interacts with a lightsaber like that. That's what makes it so rare – and expensive."

Ahsoka steepled her fingers under her chin with a thoughtful look on her face. "Phrik…the last time I heard of it, the Empire was experimenting with weapons to use against escaped Jedi. If it resists lightsabers, they could even make armour out of it."

"The Empire? I thought this planet was abandoned. Why would there be phrik lying around out here?"

The two rebels started to walk along the rocky outcrop, the mist parting before them. Ahsoka was holding a holographic map out in front of her, and pointed to a line marked on it. "If we stick to the path, we should be able to find our way to the old base."

"A base?"

"A Separatist base. This place used to be a hideout." Ahsoka looked up from the map. "That's probably where that phrik came from. Some of the old droids had phrik components – arms, legs, even electrostaffs – specifically for fighting Jedi."

After another minute of walking, a shadow loomed before them through the mist. The outcrop ended at the side of a steep cliff face, littered with boulders that had fallen from high above.

"There. That cave entrance. The base must be in there."

Ahsoka was pointing to a wide gash in the cliff face, half covered by boulders. As they got closer, Kanan noticed that a huge pair of metal blast doors were lying under the boulders on either side of the cave entrance.

"What was this place?"

Ahsoka ran her hand over the exposed edge of one of the doors. "It was once the lair of General Grievous. Right up until it was discovered by Master Fisto during the war. After that, it was bombed from orbit by the Republic and abandoned."

"Surely you don't still think…"

Ahsoka nodded. "It can't be a coincidence. First, Hera is attacked by a six-fingered, white droid while investigating an old transport. Then, the _Ghost_ is flown to Mustafar, what was once a Separatist stronghold. Then, it turns up here. Either the Empire is setting up a very elaborate trap for us, or…"

She left the sentence unfinished. The only remaining possibility was bizarre and terrifying, and one that Kanan still couldn't quite accept.

"Do you feel Ezra's presence?"

"Yeah…I can feel it alright. It's weak…but he was definitely nearby."

Ahsoka stepped through the rubble and entered the cave. "Follow me then. I'll lead, you keep looking for Ezra."

The darkness was near total. Ahsoka assured Kanan that she could see quite well in the dark with her enhanced vision, so he was forced to stumble along with one hand on her shoulder as they moved deeper into the fortress complex.

Kanan hadn't seen his Padawan for more than a week, but in a way, that had only heightened his sensitivity to Ezra's presence. With his eyes closed, he could feel a faint echo in the Force, but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. There was something else too. _Something darker…_

The Jedi opened his eyes – only to come face to face with a hideous, grinning skull.

"Ah! What in the-"

Ahsoka grabbed his lightsaber arm before he could draw it. "Kanan! Don't worry! Whatever it is, it's dead." Using her own saber for illumination, she bent down and examined the skeleton that was blocking their way. "Some kind of reptile. A guard animal, maybe. Look, it's even wearing a collar."

Kanan shuddered. "Whatever. Like you said, I don't want to be down here longer than I have to."

Cutting their way past, they soon found themselves at a junction, with one passage leading up, and the main passage leading straight on.

"What do you feel, Kanan?"

"I think…it's still weak, but it could be him. Dead ahead, along this passage…but I can't be sure."

Ahsoka readied both of her lightsabers. "Then we'd better split up. You go on, I'll see where this other passage leads. Meet you back here in an hour."

Steeling himself, Kanan ignited his lightsaber and set off into the darkness.

* * *

The clatter of metal claws on stone echoed out through the base. Once, this place had been alive with activity. The cavernous halls and winding corridors reverberated to the endless stamping of droids as they patrolled the fortress. Now, the former supreme commander walked alone through the gloomy passageways. Grievous paused at a junction, peering down a side passage towards a set of huge steel doors. A name drifted up to him through the fog – _Gor –_ but it was meaningless to him, a name without a face to go with it.

He could feel that his limbs were damaged through his implants. He had sustained minimal damage from his fight against the scavenger children, but other critical components had been worn down by the corrosive effects of bacta fluid. They would keep working for now, but a replacement would be ideal. During the height of the Clone Wars, Grievous swapped body parts on a regular basis, keeping only a few parts of his torso and his mask between changes.

Indistinct shapes loomed from the shadows. Statues, dozens of them. As his senses grew accustomed to the gloom, Grievous found himself standing in a hall with a high, vaulted ceiling, a room dedicated to statues of himself. Strong memories stirred behind his mask as he approached the nearest statue, one of himself in his pre-transformation days. A muscular figure, dressed as a great Kaleesh warrior, holding aloft the severed head of an enemy.

At the back of the hall, the floor rose sharply to create a raised platform overlooking the statues. The centre of this platform was dominated by a throne made of black metal, out of which wires trailed in all directions.

_At last._ The throne was familiar to Grievous. Rather than replacing his body parts, sometimes the cyborg needed to perform maintenance on the powerful computers that interfaced with his brain. Although the base was powered down, the throne could be powered with the nuclear batteries inside his own body. A simple diagnostic program may be all Grievous needed to purge his mind of the nagging pain he had felt ever since he had woken up.

Something that could have been a tear tickled the corner of his good eye. Perhaps there was no point in going on. If the war was lost, then everything he had fought for was gone. Grievous hesitated for a moment, then picked up a thick cable from the back of the machine and prepared to insert it into the base of his neck.

_There is no more room for weakness. Once the process is complete, I can begin to bring order to this chaos._

" **Why do you cry, my love?"**

Grievous whirled around. Pain flashed behind his eyes, stronger than he had ever felt before, and he let out a growl. Blinking fiercely, he looked around for the source of the voice – and discovered that he was no longer alone.

Standing in the open doorway at the other end of the hall was a ghostly figure, composed of shimmering white light. Grievous blinked his good eye, and for a moment the apparition disappeared, leaving no trace in his artificial sensors.

" _Who are you? Identify yourself!"_

The figure drifted between the statues, casting new shadows as its own pale illumination reflected off the walls. As it drew closer, Grievous could make out more defined features. The ghost was wearing a mask of some kind, carved from wood or bone, and underneath the cape he caught a glimpse of a suit of primitive-looking hide armour.

" **Someone you swore you would never forget."** The voice was female, with a high, musical word rang painfully loudly inside the cyborg's head, as if the ghost was speaking to him telepathically. **"They could not take your name, but the meaning it once had has been lost."**

" _I am the greatest warrior this galaxy has ever seen! No foe can stand before me!"_ Grievous spread out his arms, drawing himself up to his full height. _"My body is a weapon like no other – and what you see around you is the story of my rise to supremacy!"_

" **I do not believe you."** The ghost paused before a statue of Grievous, a large diorama of the cyborg sparring with a Jedi. **"You lie, and yet you do not know it. You answer me in the voice of your master."**

" _You dare…I am no pawn of Dooku! I have outlived him, him and all the others, and I alone will win this war!"_

The ghost moved closer, ascending the steps towards the throne. Grievous backed away, mesmerised by the mask as it drew level with his own.

" **Even now, you are his prisoner. You know me, and I know you, yet some part of you will never accept it. This body…these halls. The statues that surround you. All lies."**

The stillness of the hall was shattered by a flash of blue light and the roar of a lightsaber. As the apparition drew closer, Grievous, his back claws scraping against the wall, drew the stolen blade back over his head.

" _Bah! Enough of this trickery! You will be destroyed!"_

The blue blade darted forward with an angry whine – only to stop suddenly, as a long white blade collided with it in mid-air. A curved sword, composed of the same white mist as the ghost that wielded it, had appeared out of thin air before him.

" **I feel you within your metal shell. The soul of a true warrior."**

The sword disengaged, hissing through the air towards Grievous. He leapt aside, landing with a crash amongst his statues and sending them toppling to the ground. The ghost continued to advance with unnerving calm, meeting his wild swings with incredible speed. Pulling the electrostaff from his back, Grievous intensified his blows, the air around him crackling with spinning blades, yet nothing found its way past the ghostly sword, and his lightsaber only struck statues. Even over the commotion, the voice of the ghost rang out as clear as a bell, drowning out all other sounds.

" **General Grievous must die..."** The cloak billowed out around the ghost as if caught by an unseen wind, and as it moved a second curved blade appeared in its other hand.

"… **so that** **Qymaen jai Sheelal** **can live."**


	19. Chapter 19

The deeper Ahsoka went, the more the structure of the base changed. After a few more minutes of walking the bare stone had given way to metal, an ugly bronze-coloured layer that was smooth and cold to her touch. The passageways were lit by a glowing material that looked vaguely biological, although the light was so faint that even her naturally sharp eyesight could only make out faint outlines.

There was something else here, too. Ahsoka had noticed a faint echo in the Force the moment she had set foot on the planet, and it had been growing stronger with every step she had taken into the fortress. It wasn't Ezra or Kanan, and it certainly wasn't an Inquisitor or a Sith. The dry air in the endless passageways was in motion, as if the fortress were the lungs of a sleeping giant.

Up ahead, the passageway forked. To her left, Ahsoka saw a set of blast doors, flanked by inactive ray-shield generators, as well as a symbol that denoted a detention block. She stepped inside and found herself in a narrower hallway lined with cramped cells. Curious, she went inside the first open door she came across, and as she did something caught her eye.

Drawing one lightsaber, Ahsoka held the blade high, illuminating the far wall of the cell and the objects scattered at its base. Even after so many years, and everything that had happened to her since the end of the Clone Wars, Ahsoka could not help but feel her heart sink as she saw the familiar outlines of clone trooper armour scattered around the cell. Picking up the nearest helmet, she turned it over in her hands. It was a Phase One helmet, covered inside and out with brown dust. _They must have been here for years,_ she thought, tracing her fingers over the plasteel. Despite Order 66, she still thought of the clones as her equals, her comrades, and her friends. The blue flashes under the visor of the helmet glittered in the light, and she smiled. _Maybe some more than others._

It was then that she noticed she was not alone in the cell. Startled, Ahsoka jumped back towards the doorway, her lightsabers held in a defensive stance.

What she had initially dismissed as a bundle of rags in the opposite corner of the cell appeared to be moving. By the light of her sabers, Ahsoka made out the outline of a humanoid figure, kneeling against the wall.

" _Why...why?"_ A voice came from the bundle, a strange sigh that echoed in both the cell and her mind.

"Hello?" Ahsoka moved closer, but as she did the figure extended an arm from beneath the rags and held it up to the light. A string, decorated with beads, dangled from a heavy black glove. Then the figure raised its head to look at her.

" _Why, Ahsoka? Why did you leave me?"_

The fallen Jedi froze in shock. A terrible feeling of cold washed over her, and the still air around her began to flow out of the cell with an audible whistle.

" _Ahsoka?"_

"No!" In a moment of pure panic, Ahsoka raised her lightsabers above her head, ready to strike. As she did, the illumination cast by the white blades shifted, and the apparition vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

It was over so quickly that Ahsoka couldn't be sure that she hadn't just imagined it – if it wasn't for the fact that the wind was still blowing. She stopped and laid a hand on the wall of the cell, allowing the silence to close in around her. The breeze was growing stronger, but Ahsoka still couldn't tell where it was coming from, so she stepped back out into the main corridor. The passageway was in total darkness, and even with her enhanced senses she was unable to see more than a few metres in front of her.

Then, through the darkness, she became aware of a new presence in the Force. In her mind's eye, a figure was emerging from the dark tunnel ahead of her. A ghostly humanoid, whose clothes flapped in the wind as they walked towards her.

"What are you?"

" **I have many names. The Goddess of War. The Daughter of Abesmi. The Sword of Shrupak. There are many alive that still call me by these titles."**

The figure moved closer. Ahsoka caught a glimpse of a skull-like face, framed by what looked like braided hair that flapped in the wind as it moved.

" **Yet one of my names has been forgotten. The oldest and most important of them all. I have waited here for many years, waiting for the day when it would be spoken aloud once more. And when the time comes, it must be spoken by the one I love. The one they call…Grievous."**

"Grievous." Ahsoka felt herself tense up, and her hands tightened around the hilts of her sabers. "So, he's here."

" **Yes. And where he goes, I go. They could never keep me from him, no matter what they tried."**

"Keep you from him? From Grievous? Why would… _who are you?_ "

" **You are a warrior. A woman of strength and courage."** A phantom breeze caught the edge of the cloak, and Ahsoka caught a glimpse of a sword hilt. **"Yet I sense your loss."**

At that, Ahsoka glanced back at the empty cell, suppressing a shudder. "Where is Grievous? I have to find him. I need to know where Ezra is."

The ghost turned away. **"What would you do to him?"**

Ahsoka gritted her teeth as the cold wind intensified. "Whatever I had to do to keep my friends safe. Just like any warrior would."

" **You seek to harm him."** The voice took on an accusing tone. **"Just like the others."**

"If I have to protect myself from him, I will."

" **I know your kind…** _ **Jedi.**_ **"**

Suddenly, the apparition turned and shot towards her. Ahsoka's lightsabers leapt into her hands, but before she could ignite them the ghost slammed into her, physically knocking her to the ground. The wind was knocked from her lungs by the force of the impact, and she could only gasp as she felt a strange sensation moving up her spine. The ghost crouched over her, and Ahsoka caught a glimpse of a pair of glowing reptilian eyes studying her from behind the mask.

" **You know pain. You know fear. Now you will share in mine."**

* * *

_Nothing._ Kanan sighed as he clipped his communicator back onto his belt. This deep underground, the little devices had almost no range. He couldn't raise Ahsoka, but he hoped that just meant she had moved too deep for his signal to reach her.

Kanan took a swig from his canteen. The air in the fortress felt stale and recycled, as well as being unpleasantly dry. It had been over an hour since he and Ahsoka had entered the subterranean labyrinth, and Kanan knew it would take at least that long to leave once they had found Ezra.

He had read up on the history of the fortress during the hyperspace jump into the system, but he didn't need an old Republic intelligence file to tell him that this was an evil place. Many Jedi had died beneath this mountain, and the bare interior still felt tainted by those past events, as if the fallen Jedi themselves still haunted the passageways. _The s_ _ooner we can get out of here, the better,_ he thought.

Passing through an open doorway, Kanan emerged into a cavernous underground space. Even when he held his lightsaber above his head, the pale blue light could not reach the far walls or the corners of the ceiling above. The Jedi Knight paused, and repeated a process he had performed in every new room or passageway he had encountered beneath the mountain. Closing his eyes, he reached out with the Force, searching for any traces of his apprentice. Once again, there was nothing beyond a recognisable background echo that only confirmed that Ezra had been nearby.

The outline of a starfighter stood out in the gloom. Sleek and grey, the vessel appeared perfectly preserved by the bone-dry air inside the fortress. Above it, the ceiling was flat and hinged in the middle, suggesting the presence of a tunnel leading to the surface. _Might come in handy if I can't find the way out back the way I came,_ Kanan mused, making a mental note of the location.

Kanan paused. He'd heard something, echoing from a passageway somewhere outside the hangar. He held his breath and focused, and after a few seconds he heard it again, louder this time. A roaring sound, like that of a wounded animal. Kanan remembered the skeleton of the creature he'd encountered earlier and shuddered.

_Ahsoka! Maybe she found one of those creatures alive…or maybe…_

Kanan tried his communicator again, but only got static in response.

A new sound echoed out through the darkened hangar. It was faint, muffled by layers of concrete and metal, but there was no mistaking the distinctive sound of a lightsaber activating. Kanan knew the sound of Ezra's customized saber well, and after a few more seconds he heard the hiss of the blade sinking into a solid object.

"Ezra! Is that you?"

His voice echoed away, bouncing around the hangar and down the network of tunnels that surrounded it. Then there came more sounds, closer this time. The rasp of metal scraping against stone, the hiss of air escaping through a valve. Kanan thought he heard a sound, like ancient machinery rattling into life, from somewhere below his feet, but the light of his saber revealed nothing.

" _Another Jedi…have you come to avenge the death of your apprentice?"_

Kanan froze. The voice seemed to be coming from all around him, echoing off the smooth walls of the hangar. Igniting his own blade, he took up a defensive stance.

" _He was impressive for his age. A warrior who had the courage to die fighting."_

"Where is he? What have you done with Ezra?"

In answer, a long gargling laugh boomed out around him, only to tail off into a fit of violent coughs. Kanan looked around wildly, his heart pounding, but he saw nothing beyond the pool of light around his lightsaber.

" _The Council were fools to send you here alone. Now you, and the rest of the galaxy, will know that Grievous has returned!"_

Kanan looked up as the voice thundered out above him – and found himself staring into the eyes of General Grievous.

"That's…impossible." he breathed.

With a roar, the cyborg uncoiled like a powerful spring, falling towards the Jedi. Even before the first blow landed, Kanan felt himself being buffeted by a powerful wall of energy. Unlike the bone-chilling cold that emanated from the mysterious Sith Lord on Lothal, waves of hot rage seemed to boil out of every opening of its armoured body. Reeling, Kanan only had a split second to bring his saber up before the nightmarish creature was upon him.

Their blades met with a blinding flash of light. Kanan braced himself for the blow, feeling the Force swell behind him, but even then, it took all of his strength to keep his saber from being knocked out of his hands. Grievous disengaged almost immediately, lashing out with his empty fist and dealing Kanan a vicious blow to the torso. The Jedi had the sense to allow the impact to knock him away, as Ezra's lightsaber jabbed at the spot his head had been a moment ago.

With some distance between them, Kanan could see his opponent clearly. A body made of white armour plates, mounted on a skeletal frame. Clawed hands and birdlike feet tipped with ceramoplast talons. Above it all, perched on a long neck was a grinning deathmask, a terrifying skull-like head, out of which a single organic eye glittered beneath a protective shield. In that moment, all of Kanan's doubts about the identity of their mysterious opponent vanished. Despite the improbability – no, the _impossibility_ – of his survival, General Grievous was now standing before him, lightsaber poised to strike.

Looking around, Kanan caught sight of a stack of what looked like gas cylinders just a few metres away. He clenched his fist and lifted with his free hand, and the first cylinder rose unsteadily into the air. Behind him, the cyborg clattered towards him with terrifying speed. Kanan threw out his hand, and the gas cylinder went hurtling through the air towards his opponent. Ezra's lightsaber flicked out, and the cylinder burst with a bright flash of flame, lighting up the entire hangar for an instant in green light. Grievous howled as the burning fuel splashed against his armoured body, but rather than injuring him, it simply slowed him down. Kanan hurled another canister, but Grievous side-stepped it and it flew past to detonate against the back wall of the hangar, igniting a stack of equipment.

Slowly, the Jedi and the General circled each other. Kanan held his lightsaber in a two-handed grip, with the point aimed at his opponent. Although his heart was still pounding, the shock of the initial engagement was being replaced with a sense of purpose and calm. _Focus. Breathe. Trust in the Force._

Grievous snarled, unhinging his arms and sinking down to the floor in a spiderlike pose, his stolen lightsaber rotating slowly in one hand. Suddenly, the fire flared up as it reached another fuel canister. Seeing him step back, Grievous took the opportunity and lunged forward, crossing the distance between them in a few short strides. The Force surged around the Jedi Knight as he dodged the first blow, met the second, then was thrown back by a savage kick to the ribs. Seizing the opportunity, Grievous charged towards his opponent, carving a glowing channel in the floor with his saber, but Kanan brought him up short with a blast of energy. Once again, the cyborg and the Jedi clashed sabers, and Kanan found himself just inches from the terrifying face of Grievous.

"Where is he! Where is my apprentice?"

" _You will be reunited with him soon enough, Jedi filth!"_ Leaping away, Grievous retracted the blade of Ezra's lightsaber and opened fire with the stunner, forcing Kanan back as he fended off the barrage of fire.

Kanan coughed, fighting to control his breathing. The stale air in the hangar was being sucked up by the raging inferno in the fuel dump, leaving him with only smoke to breathe. As if Grievous was reading his mind, the cyborg glanced towards the doors leading out from the hangar. One by one, they slammed shut, trapping Kanan in and sealing off the flow of air. Then, with laughter bubbling up from somewhere inside his ruined frame, Grievous attacked in a whirlwind of light. Kanan met his strikes as best he could, abandoning the two-handed grip for greater speed as Grievous probed his defence from every angle. Then one of the cyborg's hands flashed behind his back, and suddenly the glowing prongs of an electrostaff were raining blows on his lightsaber.

The martial trance that had aided in his battle against the Grand Inquisitor was fading as the smoke and heat overcame him. Kanan raised his lightsaber to deflect an overhead attack from Grievous, only to have the electrostaff driven into his torso. The lightsaber fell from his grip, deactivating as it hit the floor. For a moment, Kanan was on his hands and knees, fumbling in the gloom for it – then something hit him hard across the face, and he was thrown back. A white hand shot out and clamped down around his neck. Forgetting his lightsaber, Kanan seized the hand and tried desperately wriggle free, but the metal fingers only tightened.

Spots danced in front of his eyes as he felt himself being lifted up. Against a backdrop of leaping flames, Kanan was dimly aware of the face of General Grievous hovering just inches away from his own.

" _You are not the first Jedi I have killed, and you will not be the last."_

Then a wall of hot air rushed over them both, and Kanan fell to the ground.

 


End file.
